Beautiful Things
by Jacinda
Summary: Answers questions about why Woody is 'dating' Devan. Chapters to closely follow most of the events in Season 4 Each chapter is a post-episode vignette- FIN maybe
1. Jordan's POV: Stood up

I'm sitting at the end of my bed. I'm wearing the dress I spent weeks picking out. It's wine colored, strapless, flares at the waist. I thought it brought out the subtle gold flecks in my eyes; Woody told me that they were there. He said that one night when I was working as a barmaid. Someone needed to take care of the Pogue; it was my job. Woody would come by almost every night for a beer; it was a ritual. It was one of the few constant things in my life.

It's eight o'clock. The cocktail hour started an hour ago; the dinner started just minutes ago. Woody said that he would pick me up at half passed six. I was waiting by the door. I was waiting for over a half hour already. I had my sexy stilettos on. I had practiced walking in them. I had practiced for three hours. I was pretty sure that I could even dance in these suckers.

The curls in my hair were falling. I wore my hair down like I knew Woody liked it. I'm sure that my makeup probably needed touching up. I was pretty sure that none of this mattered anymore. He was well over two hours late. I was sure that he wasn't coming.

I did this last week. He said he wasn't mad at me. Woody said that I did a good thing helping that woman and her daughter. Woody said that he understood that I needed to go out to pick up the body; it was my job . . . it was no different than his job.

I heard he went out for drinks with Devan that night. They didn't go to the Pogue; that's where Garrett and I went. Woody and I never talked about that. He didn't mention a word of it. We just fell back into our routine. He would come watch me work at the Pogue; he would order a beer.

Now, it was my turn to be stood up. I couldn't be mad at him for standing me up. I stood him up last week; I guess that was our trial run. He had given me the wrong date . . . misread the invitation. I deserved this . . . I really deserved this. I wondered if he was there with Devan.

I stand up and unzip my dress letting it fall haphazardly to the ground. I unclasp the strapless bra; it was the first one that I ever owned. I carefully rolled off the nylons. I pulled on a camisole and pajama bottoms. I turned out the lights and crawled into bed; I was crying. I was crying and I didn't realize it until I felt the wetness on the pillow. I spent hours crying before I fell into sleep.


	2. Woody's POV: Her eyes

Devan said she forgot some paperwork in her office, rather the small desk that was pushed into a corner away from all her other coworkers. I told her that I would wait by my car; I had driven her to work today. Devan reasoned that if we were going to go out on a 'date' right after work, there was no sense in one of us having to leave our car behind. Devan was so calculated. She gave definite answers; she was so different from Jordan.

I watched Garrett and Jordan exit the building. They stopped in front of the doors briefly before Garrett guided Jordan to his car. His arm was wrapped around her waist. Jordan leaned into him. She was smiling; normally after Jordan encountered Devan, she was sullen. Jordan wasn't sullen tonight. Garrett kissed the side of her head; he opened the car door for her. He said something that made her laugh. I closed my eyes; I could remember when she would laugh like that for me. I watched them drive off. I wondered where they were going. I was tempted to call Jordan, but it wouldn't have been fair to her . . . fair to Garrett.

"I didn't know those two were a hot item outside of the morgue," Devan said as she approached the car. I opened the door for her. She was carrying several case files; I knew what that meant. Tonight, I would be watching a movie, while Devan worked. Devan would occasionally make comments about how the science in the movie was all wrong or how transparent the plot was. Work was the only thing that Devan was really passionate about.

"Yeh, I guess," I replied as I got into the car.

"Jordan said that we should join them at some Italian place downtown," Devan offered. I didn't want to have anything to do with Jordan's date. I knew the Italian place well; it was her favorite. She always ordered the same thing off the menu . . . vegetarian lasagna with an iced tea. There was occasionally live music at the restaurant. Jordan had taken me there several times to celebrate promotions or closed cases.

"I feel more like a night in," I replied. I started the engine.

"Woody, don't be such a stick in the mud. This is my chance to get in on their little clique . . . it would do wonders for me in the office," Devan replied. I began to understand that this was her way of 'networking' or something, "Woody, please."

I hated when she would whine and beg . . . God, she always did it at the same time. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Before I even conjured the sentence in my brain, I was agreeing to her demands.

I wondered why I did this to myself. Devan was the anti-Jordan. Everything about Devan was clinical and predictable. She had one hell of a huge ego, but she had these beautiful eyes that reminded me of someone that I had lost so long ago. Annie. My Annie. Annie had married two weeks ago; she sent me an announcement along with a picture of her and my best friend celebrating martial bliss. It hurt like hell; they say you never really get over your first love. I had never really gotten over Annie; I ran from Annie. I ran the day after her father said he would never let a cop marry his little girl. I didn't even say good-bye to her. I held on to Devan because of those eyes that haunted me in so many dreams.

We walked into the restaurant. Jordan and Garrett had already been seated. They were seated at a table for two; it was obvious that they weren't expecting us. I could tell by the shocked look on Jordan's face that they weren't expecting us. Jordan hadn't talked to me in about a week. I wasn't sure why she just shut down the way she did. I wondered if it was me . . . if it was her . . . if it was her family. I figured that I would ride this one out. Jordan always came around . . . eventually.

"We weren't expecting you," Garrett said shocked. I saw him holding her hand. Her hand was still bandaged from the break in only a few days ago. Jordan's hair was wavy . . . she had on lip stick. Jordan never wore lipstick. I began to believe that this was really a date that Devan and I had just interrupted.

"We thought we could go out for dinner instead of ordering in. Besides, I never get to see you two outside of work," Devan rambled as the waiter pushed another table against the occupied table. Jordan gave her that look . . . it was the 'there is a reason I don't spend time with you outside of work' look. I could see the same uneasiness in Garrett's face. Devan ignored it . . . corporate advancement.

"I guess. Sit down. Jordan and I have already ordered," Garrett said. He didn't want us there; he made it so apparent. I didn't understand why Devan didn't get it. I sat next to Garrett . . . Devan sat next to Jordan. Jordan's eyes averted mine.

"So, Jordan . . . did you want to dance?" Garrett asked quickly motioning towards a small dance floor where some couples were dancing to Rat Pack melodies being played by a live band. She eagerly ran with him; her small hand in his much larger hand. They needed to finish their conversation elsewhere.

"Woody," Devan demanded. I wasn't about to dance with her.

"Devan, let's go. We are interrupting something . . . let's go rent a movie," I said.

"It's what we are interrupting that is so interesting. I think there is something in our contract about no interoffice dating . . . she's going to lose her job," Devan said. I knew she was Jordan's rival . . . at least in her mind. I wasn't sure if Jordan felt the same way about Devan; if she did, Jordan did an excellent job of pretending not to give a damn about the pretentious blonde that I was 'dating.'

"Devan, let's just pretend we didn't see anything and leave," I tried to coax. I had no idea what Devan was scheming. I could tell there was a scheme behind her intentions; there was this eerie flicker in her eyes. These eyes were not the eyes of my sweet Annie.

"Woody, if Jordan would seemingly lose her job, it would open a lot of doors for me when I try to get a job here in a few weeks," Devan said as a smile spread across her lips. I tried to think only of Annie . . . of the gray-blue eyes sitting in front of me . . . not Devan.

"Devan, you should be careful . . . Garrett wouldn't think twice of letting you loose," I cautioned. I knew she was competitive, but I hadn't guessed that she would stoop to this level to gain the upper edge.

"Woody, his decision should be based on the rule . . . they are breaking the rules," Devan hissed. Her demeanor changed so quickly.

I watched them dance. They were talking the entire time as they made lazy circles. Their lips were so close that I could nearly see them touching. I felt jealousy. It was wrong of me to feel that way . . . I didn't have the right to stake any claim to Jordan. Jordan was not mine to have. She had obviously moved on. I was left trying to seek solace in the eyes that held so many memories, but the eyes were all that I wanted. I didn't want the rest of Devan . . . I was being so selfish, but it was better than admitting to myself that Annie was going to only be a memory.


	3. Garrett's POV: All Grown Up

Author's Note: I'm having a really hard time figuring out what to do this story (the show has been less than helpful in providing any inspiration for any happiness between Jordan and Woody . . . grumbles and wishes that I owned the show and actors). Let me know what you think -- I really appreciate constructive criticism!

* * *

"Jordan, I've always told you to be nice, but this time I guess it really bit us in the ass," I kidded as Jordan and I gently swayed to the melody.

"That's what you get for teaching me good manners and good work ethic," Jordan replied as she gestured towards the blonde, "I didn't think she would actually show up . . . with him."

"Jordan, did you ever talk to him about last weekend? He can't possibly know that you are mad at him . . . well, I'm sure he knows. Did you just want to leave and go somewhere else?" I asked. I looked into her eyes; they looked so lost. There was so much pain that Jordan tried to cover up by suddenly becoming the 'good girl.' She told me of the failed communications with Max; the funeral service for James. Nigel and I were the only ones invited in on these little secrets. Jordan was so careful with her feelings towards Woody; she felt so betrayed by him. She worked carefully and quietly to rebuild the relationship. I guess being stood up for his award ceremony and then being told that the robbery was all a figment of her imagination was enough to crumble whatever she hoped for.

"I want to stay here; I am going to prove that I can be the adult. Garrett, I can't run from him forever. I'll see him at crime scenes . . . at the Pogue. It's just time to move on, but you should already know that . . . you told me that so many times," Jordan rambled. Her hand wandered up my neck to the back of my head. She gently kneaded out some of the knots. I didn't dare tell her that most of my stress was caused by watching her suffer at the hands of that blonde and the dimwit.

"Jordan, are you sure? I don't think I can spend my free time with either of them . . . Devan . . . I wish you didn't feel like being the adult tonight," I said. She laughed. It drew her body closer to mine; I liked the sound of her laugh. I had always thought of Jordan as a little sister; I thought of her as fragile and lost, but that was all changing so quickly. Jordan had been forced to mature; she ran the Pogue seamlessly, she picked up Peter's cases, and she became my person psychiatrist this afternoon. She wasn't the lost little girl she used to be. Sometimes, I missed the impulsive girl.

"Let's get our stuff to go . . . we could go to my place . . . your place . . . we could go to the morgue if it meant they wouldn't be there," Jordan replied. I smiled; I was glad that she could shed her adult persona at the appropriate times.

"My place; I have a table . . . I seem to remember your apartment being a little more Bohemian than I think I could handle," I replied as we walked from the dance floor back to the table. I waved down the waiter and told him our request; I handed him my credit card. Jordan momentarily fought me, but she agreed to let me pay this time.

"Jordan and I need to get going," I said as we sat back down at the table. I prayed that they wouldn't ask why; I was having a hard time thinking of a good, believable excuse.

"That's too bad. You get called out?" Devan asked. I hated the sound of her voice. It oozed with this false caring . . . insincerity.

"No, I'm just not feeling well. Maybe I'm just over-tired . . . overtime," Jordan said. I knew that they knew she was lying. Jordan was one of the worst liars that I had ever seen; her eyes gave her away every time.

"We'll have to double date some time. It would be so nice to have another couple to go out with," Devan replied. Jordan looked at me shocked . . . she seemed to flush a little. I wasn't even sure what the expression on my face was like.

"Oh, we aren't a couple . . . are we, Garrett?" Jordan said sweetly. I was proud of Jordan for not strangling her, but I didn't want to be put on the spot.

"That would be a little premature to ask, wouldn't it Dr. McGuire," I said putting emphasis on the fact that she was wrong.

"Oh, you two just look too cute together," Devan gushed. I wanted so badly to strangle her myself . . . she was making me lose my appetite. I was thankful that our meals came packaged to go; I quickly put away the credit card.

"Jordan, let's go," I said without even acknowledging Devan or Woody. I didn't feel the need to reward them for ruining our dinner. Jordan had agreed to go out to dinner with me so we could talk. I had embraced Jordan's new form of self-therapy. I would have done anything to keep her healthy. I wanted her to know that I was there, especially after being robbed last week . . . I watched her grow fearful. I didn't want to watch her hurt anymore. I didn't want to watch her mental health deteriorate as it did during the spring.

"Yeh, let's go," Jordan replied as she stood up. Smiled at me; flashed a less than sincere smile at Woody and Devan. I don't remember if she even said good-bye. She took my hand as we walked out of the restaurant. I joked that we only had to tolerate Devan for two more weeks; it made Jordan smile. It made her laugh; that was all that mattered. Jordan needed to laugh; she needed to stop suffering at the hands of others.


	4. Woody's POV: Complicated

Woody's POV:

I heard Garrett tell Nigel to go with Jordan to where ever it was that she was running to, but it didn't look like running this time. She was smiling. I was standing right there; I wondered why Garrett didn't ask me. I held my breath as Jordan and Nigel walked right by me; I don't think they even noticed that I was there. If they did, neither made an attempt to acknowledge me. I watched them leave.

"Don't follow her," I heard Garrett say as he walked up behind me. I knew I couldn't follow her; she didn't say more than ten words over the last two weeks. The majority of our talking was this last week; Devan had gone to interview at different morgues. Devan needed to line up a 'back up job' just in case Garrett didn't hire her. I heard Bug telling Lily that Devan wasn't even going to get an interview here. No one wanted her here. Garrett had decided to hire Sydney. I wasn't sure if I liked him anymore than I liked Devan.

"I won't follow her," I replied as I watched Nigel hold open the elevator door for Jordan. They both looked so excited to be leaving.

"Woody, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but don't bring Jordan into it," Garrett lectured. I had changed; I hadn't noticed so much until today during the autopsy. I never bet on cases; I never argued with the medical examiners. I knew that my understanding of their science was so rudimentary. I had no right to question the better judgment of Sydney.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I quickly lied.

"Then why do you let Devan torture Jordan? Jordan has to hear ever single detail of your dates and weekends. Nigel, Bug and I can handle this because Devan doesn't give a shit about us. But it hurts Jordan," Garrett replied. His voice was raised. I wished that he would just yell at me; I wished that he wouldn't lecture me.

"I don't mean to hurt her," I whispered.

"Woody, you stood her up for the awards ceremony. Did you decide to take Devan instead?" Garrett said. He voice was becoming raspier. I knew he was pissed at me.

"No, I had family business; I thought I told Jordan," I replied. I was drunk; I was drunk at home staring at a picture of Annie kissing Brent in her long white dress. It was very possible that I never called her; it didn't matter anymore. I loved Annie; I loved her since I was five years old. It wasn't something that I could just turn off; it was so painful that I ran from it. Putting hundreds of miles between us didn't turn it off.

"Didn't you wonder why she's been avoiding you? Didn't you wonder why Jordan is refusing your cases?" Garrett asked. I didn't know what I felt for Jordan. In California, there was something there when I kissed her. It was something I wanted to pursue, but somehow life always managed to get in the way.

"I don't want to hurt her," I replied. I never did want to hurt Jordan. I had worked so hard to be understanding of her faults and be understanding of all the anger inside of her. She made herself vulnerable; I had hurt her. I had told her that she was victimized for no reason; the robber was just a robber. I hadn't stayed to talk to her; I hadn't offered to put a new lock on her door. I heard the Nigel did; I asked him about the cut on his hand . . . that's the only way that I found out. Jordan.

I hadn't realized that I let all we worked to build unravel. Then, I bring Devan into it. It wasn't even all of Devan; it was just those damn grey-blue eyes. I wondered how to make this better; I wondered how I could make Annie go away. I nearly laughed when I remember that I once told Jordan that I could be complicated too. I was becoming more complicated that I ever wanted to be.

"Just stay away from her. Jordan's under enough stress; don't you dare do anything else to hurt her," Garrett threatened. I could hear him walk away; I was staring at the elevator. What had I done?


	5. Nigel's POV: Rehabilitation

Nigel's POV:

"Jordan, I want you to know that I think you did a great thing. You gave that family resolution; sometimes, that is so much more than a conviction," I said as I walked out of her office. I thought that I heard her say 'I know.' It felt good to see Jordan begin to rehabilitate. It was good for her to get away from Boston; it was good for her to give her time to families that otherwise wouldn't have a voice. I admired Jordan. I admired how she fought for the victims. This was the first time that I saw Jordan fight in a healthy, constructive manner.

Jordan had begun to change. I could see it in her eyes. The demons were beginning to fade; she smiled. There was a peacefulness that she began to portray. The peacefulness was shaken by the robber, but Jordan had begun to talk. I never knew the girl could talk as much as she did. It was good for her; it was good for her to talk about how much she missed her mother or how much she missed Max. I went to a memorial for James; Jordan sat stoically listening to the priest give a short tribute to the audience of three people.

Garrett said that it was important for her to have stability. I had been more than happy to spend time with this 'new' Jordan. She was funny. I never knew her as anything other than cynical, but she was hilarious. When she was bartending, she would occasionally tell jokes that the patrons had told her. She could tell a joke like no other; there was something about the way that her eyes would light up. It was almost magical.

Jordan told me about her situation with Woodrow. I couldn't blame her for wanting to move on. They danced around their feelings for so long; sometimes the fire grows cold long before it ever started. Jordan bravely forged ahead, despite Devan constantly reminding her about what she could have had. Jordan smiled bravely at the blonde; I would page Jordan if I ever saw Devan talking to her for more than a few minutes. Jordan said that she didn't even know what she could do to thank me. I said that it was okay . . . I would try to think of something . . . I suggested her dressing up in a maid uniform and cleaning my apartment. Jordan laughed; she didn't get offended like I expected her to. It was easy to fall in love with the easy going Jordan.

"Was your trip good?" Woodrow asked. He looked weary and his attire was in disarray. It was rather uncharacteristic of the young detective.

"It was. It was a good trip. Is there something I can do to help you?" I asked as I sat down at my computer. I was looking forward to checking my email and going home to sleep in my own bed.

"No, I just wanted to see if you had a good trip," Woodrow replied. I know I looked at him funny. I didn't associate with Woodrow outside of work and occasional drinks after work at the Pogue. We didn't have friendly banter anymore; that ended promptly when Devan started working at the morgue. I didn't have the desire to forge any relationship with Devan or those close to her. There was just something about Devan that I couldn't handle . . . how manipulative she was; that was what I really hated. I hated how she manipulated Woodrow . . . in turn causing Jordan to suffer.

"Oh. Well, I need to get home . . . I'm a little tired," I said, but I wondered why I was trying to justify the reason to Woodrow.

"Nigel, how's Jordan doing?" He asked. He looked desperate. He almost looked akin to a caged animal. I wondered what on Earth was going on with him. I felt sorry for him; I couldn't imagine what it felt like to have Devan . . . and then lose her. I was pretty sure that there was an element of masochism there. I wondered what hurt more . . . having Devan or losing Devan.

"She's good. She's probably in her office yet . . . or Dr. Macy's office," I replied. I wasn't sure if I should have told him where Jordan was, "Jordan's really doing well. She's happy."

That probably wasn't the right thing to say. His face became so sullen.

"Hey, Nig . . . guess who's last day is tomorrow," Jordan said as she flew into my office . . . stopping short of knocking Woodrow over. She looked embarrassed; the only reason she would be so excited is if it was Devan's last day tomorrow. Woodrow would know. I'm not sure if that was a good thing for him or a bad thing.

"It's Devan last day tomorrow. She's at home packing today," Woodrow said. Jordan turned beet red; I looked down at the floor.

"I didn't know that you were here," Jordan said a little shocked, "I'm really sorry, Woody."

"It's okay," Woody said as he turned away to leave. He seemed to linger a few moments before leaving. I think he was waiting for someone to say something; Jordan looked like she was at a loss for words. We watched him leave my office and make a bee line towards the elevators.

"I see you two have resolved all your issues," I sarcastically commented.

"Oh, yeah, Nigel. Woody and I are like this," she fired back as she crossed her fingers.

"Did you ever plan on talking to him again? You could at least walk away with a good friendship," I replied.

"There never seems to be a right time. Maybe this is a good thing . . . you know . . . I can finally move on and start dating," Jordan replied she tried to smile, but she looked so conflicted.

"Maybe, but you might not want to be so quick to throw things away," I replied as I gathered some of my mail from my inbox.

"I need to find someone that believes in me and accepts me for who I am and all the crazy, stupid things I sometimes do," Jordan replied, "I don't think he can do that. You know what he told me about the robber . . . he totally blew it off. You'd think after how many years of knowing me and the only day I've ever taken off . . . you'd think that he'd know that it was the anniversary of my mother's death. You'd think maybe he might show some compassion."

She looked so hurt. Jordan looked like she was reduced to an angry child; so lost and so scared. I couldn't believe that she was crying. I guess this was one of the only issues that she still needed to come to terms with. I held her; I closed my office door and kept telling her that things would get better. I told her that there was nothing wrong with moving on. I held her for what seemed like hours . . . in reality it was only fifteen minutes.

"Thanks, Nigel. I don't know what I would do without you," Jordan whispered. She kissed my cheek and asked about going out for lunch tomorrow to celebrate. I readily agreed. She was so brave; I'm not sure if she ever realized how brave she was.


	6. Woody's POV: Alone

Author's Note: I have been trying so hard to make sure my story follows what goes on during the show, but I needed to stray this week. I hope you all like it. –Jac

Woody's POV

I didn't expect to have to remember my father. I led this picture perfect life. No one ever thought to question my home life. No one ever thought to ask what my father did or what my mother looked like. They weren't questions that came up in normal conversation, but I did have the reasonable expectation that when people got close enough, they should start learning who you are. Boston; no one in Boston ever bothered to let me get close enough. Well, Jordan got close enough, but I had effectively destroyed that. I knew I had. I saw the way that she looked at me.

Home was a very lonely place. I wasn't even sure where home was anymore. I always thought of Annie as home; she was stable and constant. Even after I left, I thought of Annie as home. She was all I really had left in Wisconsin. Wisconsin was a lonely place. I went back once or twice a year to see their graves. I don't think anyone noticed the consistency of my absence. It was always the same days every year. I wondered how people trained to have an observant eye could be so blind.

I didn't want to be alone. I spent most of my life wondering why exactly I needed to be alone. I missed my mother. I missed her so dearly. I did understand why Jordan suffered so much; I suffered in much the same way. I understood; I understood how much it hurt. I wanted to tell her; I've been trying to tell her. I've struggled with the decision a million times. That's the only reason I wanted to be the one to return the locket; Eddie said that he could do it, but I couldn't let him. I wanted to; I knew how much those small tokens meant. I had a few of my own that I would always guard with my life.

Jordan avoided me most of the time. It got better once Devan left, but Jordan began to spend most of her time with Garrett and Nigel. There were occasionally rumors at the station that Jordan was dating. I was too damn caught up on Annie that I barely noticed how much Jordan had changed. God . . . she was becoming a beautiful woman. Eddie had commented on the new found balance in Jordan's life. I felt as though my eyes were closed; I was so blind to the situation.

I had been standing outside the Pogue for what felt like hours. It was freezing. It was one of the coldest days of the year. It was just about bar time. I could still hear voices inside; they were that of Jordan and Nigel. She was laughing. I hadn't heard that laugh in so long. It was almost musical, but it made me even sadder than I already was.

I struggled with the decision to talk to Jordan. I wasn't sure if she would listen to me. It took me weeks to get to the point that I believed that Jordan at least deserved some kind of explanation. From there, it was Jordan's decision as to what to do.

I watched them through the glass. They were dancing; she was laughing as Nigel twirled her around the dance floor. Her eyes were dancing. They were all lit up; I could see the happiness from out on the street. They weren't Annie's eyes, but I still missed them so much. I missed the comfort I often sought in Jordan. I royally screwed this up.

"Hey, the bar's closed," I heard Jordan say to me.

"I'm sorry . . . I guess I'm just really good at waiting until things are too late," I stammered. I couldn't believe that I said that; it sounded so inept. Maybe I was as inept as my words.

"It's not too late, Woody. Come in for a drink. You look cold," Jordan said as she held the door open for me. I didn't deserve this kind of kindness . . . not after how I have acted.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I cursed myself for sounding so damn stupid.

"Yeah, Nigel and I were just starting to close up the shop," Jordan said. Sometimes she frustrated me; I wanted her to yell at me. I wanted her to be mad at me; I had been so awful to her. It only took six weeks for me to figure out how I have mistreated her.

"Jordan, I really came here to talk to you," I said. I was still standing outside; she began to pull me into the vacant bar.

"Hey, love. I'm going to get going," Nigel said as he kissed her cheek, "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

"Pick me up early so we have time to go shopping," Jordan replied with a wink and a smile. God . . . I was probably too late.

"Okay, love. Woodrow, make sure she gets into her car safely. This isn't the greatest neighborhood," Nigel explained as he waved and walked out into the cold.

"You and Nigel?" I asked.

"Are planning a surprise party for Garrett's twentieth year working for the Boston office of criminal investigation," Jordan said as she locked the front door.

"Oh . . . I heard rumors. I assumed . . .," I rambled.

"So you haven't heard what they say about assuming," Jordan replied as she headed over to the bar. She pulled a Guinness from the ice chest.

"Sorry. You know . . . I should go," I stammered.

"No, we should talk. I think we waited long enough already," Jordan replied. I wanted to curse her for being such an adult. It made it so much harder to stand in front of her right now.

"Jordan, I'm sorry," I replied as I sat down and accepted the beer.

"Don't be sorry. I just want you to know that I respect your decision to move on with life. Whatever we had or didn't have doesn't really matter anymore . . . I just would like us to maintain a good working relationship, if not a friendship," Jordan replied. It sounded so rehearsed, but I figured that I have given her weeks to think of the words and perfect the delivery.

"I'm not much different than you, Jordan; I just do a better job of hiding it," I replied. It sounded cold. The last thing I wanted to do right now is come off as cold. I wanted to rehabilitate. I wanted to rehabilitate the way Jordan had begun to heal herself. I had so many wounds that I spent years licking. The wounds never seemed to mend themselves.

"Woody, I don't understand," Jordan replied as she stopped cleaning up behind the bar and stopped to give me her full attention. She looked so beautiful; her hair was pinned up on her head. It was wavy; she knew that I liked her hair when she let it be natural.

"Jordan, everyone has the perception of me being perfect. I'm not . . . everything about me as fallen short of perfect. I just pretend that my life is perfect. I always figured that if I believed it enough . . . it would come true," I rambled.

"Nobody is perfect . . . I don't think anyone ever asked you to be perfect," Jordan replied. She sounded so empathetic, as if she knew how awful I was feeling. I struggled to maintain the conversation.

"Jordan, nothing about me is perfect. My mother and father are dead. I raised my younger brother. Annie got married a month ago. I promised myself that I would make something of myself, but I've always fallen short. My life is a mess and there's nothing that I can do to fix that," I ranted. Jordan rested one of her hands on mine.

"I never knew," she whispered. Her lips were the color of a rich red wine.

"You never asked," I replied. I looked down at my drink. It was hard to begin to open up the past regrets; it was so much easier to just pretend that they didn't exist.

"I didn't. I'm sorry, Woody," Jordan replied. I didn't need for her to feel sorry for me, but I knew she only said that because she understood. Children that have lost parents know a hurt that so few people will ever feel . . . she knew that hurt. Jordan knew how I was feeling.

"I don't tell people because then they ask me about how they died . . . they suffered, Jordan. I want to forget how much they suffered. I was there for every moment of their suffering. My only memories of my mother are of tubes and chemotherapy. When I was four years old, I knew what chemotherapy was . . . I also knew what it felt like to have my bone marrow harvested," I rambled.

"Woody, you don't have to talk," Jordan replied. She was holding my hand . . . gently caressing my hand with her thumb.

"Jordan, I didn't mean to stand you up. I thought I called you . . . I couldn't leave my apartment that night. I was too damn drunk to move," I said. I knew I owed her an explanation. I was just having a hard time getting to the explanation and the apology.

"Water under the bridge . . . it's been long since forgotten," Jordan replied. She tried to smile at me, but it ended up looking awkward and uncomfortable.

"Jordan, I got this letter from Annie . . . she married my best friend. Jordan, I ran from Wisconsin. I didn't leave on good terms with . . . anyone. I asked Annie's father if I could marry her. He said that she wouldn't marry someone that was satisfied with just being a cop. I loved her so much . . . I loved her since I was a kid. I thought she would love me back . . . I thought her family had accepted me for who I was, but I was wrong. Running didn't make me love her less . . . I just loved her from far away. Then . . . then I met you. Jordan, I thought I was falling in love with you. It scared the hell out of me. Each time I wanted to move forward . . . I felt you pull back. The minute you wanted to move forward . . . the whole Devan debacle started," I tried to explain. My words flowed so quickly . . . I wasn't sure if Jordan even understood a word that I said.

"I didn't think that it was a debacle," Jordan commented.

"Annie had these eyes . . . they were the same gray-blue that Devan's were. Devan's eyes were comforting . . . she didn't mean a thing, but her eyes meant something to me that I hadn't felt since the last time I saw Annie. Devan only used me to get herself more cases. I was stupid, Jordan," I replied.

"No, you were lost. It's hard to be lost. I was lost for years, but I just needed to start realizing that there were certain things that just aren't meant to be. No matter what I did . . . I couldn't give my mother the justice she deserved . . . I could never make James love me . . . I could never be the daughter that my father wanted. The only thing I could do was be happy with who I am," Jordan calmly explained. She had gained so much wisdom. I was momentarily jealous of the freedom that her realization had brought her.

"Jordan, do you think that we are one of the things that isn't meant to be?" I asked.

"I don't know. We tried for so long, but life always seemed to get in the way," Jordan replied.

"I know we did," I replied. She looked beautiful. Her eyes could easily render me speechless if I gazed into them for too long.

"I think you need to come to terms with who you are and who you can't be," Jordan replied. I knew this was her kind way of telling me that I need to get myself together before I could be with anyone else. I knew that was the right thing to do, but I didn't want to be alone. I hated to be alone with my thoughts.

"I know, but don't you ever get sick of being alone?" I asked.

"I know I'm never alone because I have friends that I love like family . . . I have a fish that I've been fattening over the last few weeks . . . I always have my mother and my father even if they can't be with me," Jordan replied. She dropped her head, expertly avoiding my stare. I could hear a slight falter in her voice. I knew the last comment saddened her; the truth always hurt so much more when it was said out loud.

"I don't have any of that," I replied. I was acutely aware of how isolated I had become since moving to Boston.

"I think you just don't realize what you have," Jordan replied.

"I think I am an expert at screwing up what I have," I replied.

"Woody, this time . . . I think it's your friends that let you down," Jordan replied.

"I should get going," I said as I suddenly became self-conscious. The room felt a little too small for my liking.

"You need to stay. Someone always locks up with me . . . I guess I'm still a little afraid of the dark," Jordan replied. Her head was still hung low . . . I'm sure that after being assaulted in her own home, she had the right to still be afraid of the dark.

"Thank you," I replied.

"Woody, thank you for being honest with me," Jordan replied as she lifted her head. I could see the wet trails the tears left as they glided over her cheeks.

"Jordan, I don't want to be alone tonight," I said. I didn't know exactly what I meant; from the look on Jordan's face, she didn't know either, "Please don't make me go to my empty apartment. I don't even have a damn fish to fatten."

"You can come home with me tonight," Jordan replied tentatively . . . I knew she was scared of these feelings. I was scared of them too. There were so many things that I was afraid of . . . right now I was most afraid of being alone.


	7. Jordan's POV: Presence

Jordan's POV:

He's sleeping on my couch. He barely made it through the door before the exhaustion took over. Woody looks almost angelic when he is sleeping. I pulled my favorite Patriots blanket over him; the blanket had provided me with so much comfort over the years. I hoped that tonight my blanket would provide Woody with some of the comfort he had been so desperately searching for.

I didn't know what to do next. I watched him sleep. There were a million other things to do, but none of them seem important right now. I wanted to be here for Woody, but I had so many conflicting emotions that I wasn't sure what to do or say next.

The loss of a mother is something that scars a child. The world is never quite right from that moment on. Woody's world must have been a disaster. My problems seem so minor in comparison; I suddenly felt a wave a guilt wash over me. I have been so selfish. I have burdened him with so many of my complicated messes. He's helped me out of the holes that I dug many times. He was such a good friend to me, but I wasn't a good friend in return.

"Cavanaugh," I said as I answered my cell phone.

"Hey, love. I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay . . . that you got home safe and all," Nigel said. It was three in the morning. He had to work tomorrow. Nigel was such a good friend; I worked so hard to be a good friend in return.

"Woody's on my couch," I replied.

"Well, that's unexpected," Nigel said. He sounded shocked.

"He was really upset about life . . . I couldn't let him be alone," I replied. My explanation sounded so mature; I knew Nigel could see through it. He would know the truth. I had worked so hard to bury my feelings for Woody; I pretended to move on with my life. I had even gone out a few very unsuccessful dates. I had a hard time kissing another man; I would think of Woody the instant I closed my eyes. It wasn't fair to my dates; I held them to a standard that I knew they would never attain.

"Be careful, Jordan. Be careful with your heart . . . I've seen what he can do to you. Don't let him ruin you . . . don't let him hurt you," Nigel said. His voice softened. I understood the conflicting thoughts. I knew he wanted me to be happy, but to attain the happiness I desired I might get hurt badly in the process.

"Nigel, I'll be careful. I promise. Now, go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," I replied. Nigel agreed and I hung up my cell phone. I was tired. My eyelids became heavy. I wanted to do nothing more than sleep. I retreated to my bedroom and pulled off my clothes. I pulled on my pajamas. These were the ones that Garrett bought me not too long after the Malden debacle. I hadn't done my laundry in weeks; at the time, all I could do was cry and pester my private investigator about trying to find Dad. Garrett bought me groceries, a robe, and pajamas. He said that those were the necessities; everything else could be taken care of during more peaceful times. He was right. Garrett was always right. Garrett told me to move on with my life; he told me to date . . . he told me to stay as far away from Woody and Devan as possible. He was right; it was his advice that kept me sane over the last few months. I knew that I should believe him, but I spent years being afraid of my feelings for Woody. I wasn't sure if I should listen to Garrett and run, or if I should try to sort my feelings out. I wasn't sure what would hurt me less.

I crawled under the covers. I was prepared to fall into my normal dreamless sleep, but I could hear Woody gasp for air. It sounded like he was choking; it was a noise that I hadn't heard since I was a medical student working with asthmatic children. It scared me; I was on my feet and in the living room before I was fully conscious of my actions. One minute I was in bed, the next I had my arms wrapped around Woody. His skin was cold, but wet. I knew what it was like to wake up in a cold sweat. I knew what it felt like to wake up with the expectation that I would be alone. I remember telling him that everything was okay; I remember whispering something else. I knew my words didn't matter; it was my presence that was important. We sat in the dark, my arms tangled around Woody's body, for nearly a half hour before words were spoken.

"I should go home," Woody said softly.

"You should stay," I replied. I ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't want to be a burden," he replied even softer than before.

"You couldn't possibly be a bigger burden than me," I replied. I knew it was the truth. I had a tendency to be a burden. I was careless and hasty. I hurt people to get what I wanted. I told myself that those were the characteristics of the old Jordan . . . the new Jordan wasn't like that. All those issues had been sorted through. I wanted peace. I wanted serenity.

"Jordan, why are you doing this?" Woody asked. I knew he was trying to gauge my sincerity. I often did that to people after they found out that my mother was dead. I knew he didn't want this to be out of sympathy. I didn't want him to feel like a charity case. I wanted him to feel safe.

"Because . . . I owe you. You were always there to pick me up when I fell," I replied.

"I didn't do anything for favors in return, Jordan," he replied. I couldn't see his face; I could always read his eyes. I didn't know if he was mad or grateful.

"I know," I replied, "You should stay the night."

"Jordan, this isn't a good idea . . . I don't deserve your kindness," Woody replied.

"Woody, I don't know why you think that. There were a lot of times I didn't deserve your kindness," I replied. He was still in my arms. I knew that if he wanted to leave, he would have been gone by now.

"Everything I've done for you was because I love you," Woody replied. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I wasn't sure if I loved him. I always had a hard time loving; every time I loved someone got hurt. My Pavlovian response was to run; I knew that 'love' was the precursor to horrible things. Or at least in my mind . . . love had so many horrible connotations.

"You don't have to say anything, Jordan. I don't expect you to have a response. I don't think I deserve to be loved by you . . . I think I've squandered any chance that I had," Woody replied. I wondered what my silence had done; I knew that I was hurting him.

Without thinking, I kissed him. His lips were hot against mine; moving in the same hungry intensity. He didn't hold back like he did in California. I didn't know where this was meant to go. I didn't know if this was going to be a hurtful way of avoiding saying the words that I knew Woody wanted to hear . . . needed to hear.

His hands were warm against my skin. He ran his fingers through my hair and down my back. It gave me chills that I had never felt before. They weren't the 'I'm going to regret this in the morning' chills that I had so much experience with. It felt good. Everything about Woody felt good. I was sure that the regrets would come later, but I wanted this. I wanted to be stuck in these moments forever.

"Jordan, tell me when to stop," Woody whispered. His breath was hot against my neck. I hadn't realized that I was on my back . . . pinned between his body and the couch. I wasn't sure if I wanted to say 'stop.' I hadn't felt so alive in ages. I wouldn't say 'stop' tonight.


	8. Woody's POV: Beautiful Things

Woody's POV:

There was a dull throbbing in my head. The sunlight coming through the window was nearly blinding. I was momentarily disoriented, but seeing her was all I needed to remember exactly where I was and what happened. Jordan looked so beautiful. She was curled up in all the covers on the bed. I was tempted to trace all her curves as to memorize her body, but I held back. I didn't want to wake her; I didn't want to face the possibility that she thought that this was some colossal mistake. It wasn't a mistake; I needed to keep telling myself that it wasn't a mistake. My heart told me that this wasn't a mistake; my head wondered if I had just risked the best friendship that I could ever ask for. It really didn't matter what I thought; it was Jordan that would decide what happened next. I hoped that she wouldn't be as conflicted as I was.

Being around Jordan was all it took to forget about Annie. I remembered what it was like to feel comfortable and safe. Something about Jordan . . . something about her presence made me feel whole again. It was something new; I didn't remember Jordan ever being so composed, poised, and selfless. I wondered how I could have missed all these changes. I wondered why Jordan thought she needed to change.

She looks beautiful. The thought is redundant, but unshakable. I can smell her perfume. It was a new scent . . . vanilla and lavender. It was a combination as unique as Jordan. It was a combination I had never smelled before. I knew that from this day forward when I smelled vanilla and lavender, I would think of Jordan. There always was some part of my brain that was thinking of Jordan regardless of the stimulus.

I had expected her to tell me to stop last night. I hadn't expected her to touch me as she did. I hadn't expected her to share her body with me. I wondered why she did. I gave her no reason to love me in return. Annie was a malignancy that I never could rid myself of. It took me weeks to come to terms with the fact that I needed to move on. That was hardest thing I ever had to do . . . give up on the one thing that had sustained me through my teenage years. Annie for Jordan . . . last night it became very obvious that I had 'traded up.' I cannot remember Annie comforting me as Jordan did. I cannot remember Annie making me feel so okay about my shortcomings. I had to remind myself that it was only a vertical move if Jordan would agree that maybe it was time that we stopped playing these games . . . it was time we put some meaningful effort into figuring out if we could ever be something more than friends.

I wanted Jordan to say that she loved me. That was something I wanted to hear, but I had to remind myself that this wasn't a traditional courtship; Jordan was very far from being a traditional girl, but I saw that changing. It didn't need to be perfect; I just wanted to have Jordan. I wanted to stop playing the game. I knew I had to do a lot of work to get back to where we were just a few weeks ago; I needed to rebuild trust and honesty. I needed to know that she forgave me; I needed to know that her words weren't courteous adult bullshit designed to prove that she was indeed the adult in the relationship.

I gave in to my temptation. I ran my finger along her profile, trying desperately to remember every inch of her body. Her skin was so soft. I was transfixed by watching her chest rise and fall. The littlest things about Jordan could bring me to my knees. Jordan didn't understand that those were the most beautiful things; those were the most special things about her . . . her being was so much more beautiful than any other. I was so stupid to stray as I did. This morning, I was afraid of losing something that I never really knew.

She looked so beautiful.

"Hey," Jordan said as she rolled on her side. She clutched the sheets to her body. I knew that was a bad sign; she must be having second thoughts.

"Hey, I didn't wake you up, did I?" I asked. I didn't know what to do next; I thought being with someone you loved was supposed to be easy. I'm not sure why I still thought that; being with Annie was nothing less than challenging.

"No, I think I forgot to close the blinds last night," Jordan replied. She blushed a little. I had never seen Jordan blush before.

"I should go," I replied.

"We could go out for breakfast," Jordan offered.

"Sure . . . Jo, about last night," I said. I didn't want to be the one to broach the subject, but I got so sick of dancing amongst clever small talk.

"Woody, let's not analyze last night. Analyzing always seems to get me in trouble," Jordan replied as she sat up and began to reach for her robe.

"Jordan, I don't want this to be . . . I don't want this to be just last night," I replied.

"Woody, I don't want it to be just last night, either. We still have a lot to work out," Jordan replied. She wrapped the robe around her and got out of bed. She looked so beautiful. I wanted nothing more than to hold her. I didn't know how to ask her.

"Jordan, I'm sorry," I replied. She stopped. She turned around and walked back to me.

"Woody, I'm not sorry. I just want this to be right . . . I don't want it to be another hit and a miss," Jordan replied as she sat on the bed next to me. She smelled so good.

"Jordan, don't pull away from me again," I whispered. I ran my fingers through her hair . . . ran my fingers along her cheek bones. I knew that last night was too good to be true; she was afraid. I knew she was afraid of being hurt again.

"I need to know that I'm not a replacement for Annie or Devan," she whispered. I needed to strain to hear what she said.

"You aren't a replacement. Jordan, you are so much more to me than you think," I replied. I could see the tears in her eyes. She looked so terrified. Her thoughts must have been torturing her last night. I understood why; last time she let me in, I pushed her away to become entangled with Devan.

"Please don't say things that you don't mean," Jordan replied.

The best I could do was kiss her. I wished that I would have been able to tell her that I loved her. I wanted more than anything to say that, but I didn't want to hear dead silence in the moments after. I was thankful that she kissed me back; I expected her to run. Jordan had become so careful with her heart. She had every right to.

It was easy to get lost in a kiss. It was easy to get lost in anything uniquely Jordan. I marveled at how soft everything about her had become. Her skin was soft, her hair was soft, and the walls that Jordan so carefully erected were soft. I could sense that those walls were beginning to crumble. I wanted to spend the morning and afternoon lost in everything Jordan. I wanted to learn every inch of her body.

I was convinced that Jordan had no idea how beautiful she was. She tried so hard to cover her body. I didn't know why she was hiding. I was pretty sure that she wasn't told she was beautiful that often. I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to tell her absolutely how beautiful she is. I wanted her to know that she was so much more than Annie or Devan. I didn't have the words to tell her that.

She felt so good in my arms. I was beginning to remember what home felt like. I didn't want to let her go. She wasn't pulling away from me; I was so thankful that she didn't pull away. I wanted to stay here forever.

Jordan let me spend the morning memorizing every curve of her body. She let me learn every inch of her flesh. She in turn held me. At one point, she whispered that she had no regrets. I didn't have any; I fell into a restful sleep. Jordan's head was on my chest. In my last moments of wakefulness, I whispered that I loved her. I swear that I heard her say that she loved me too.


	9. Jordan's POV: It Stays in Vegas

Author's Note:  I promise I will try to weave this back to a happy Woody-Jordan ending.  It's been really hard to work off the holes in the episodes and  still make this story happy (Why do the writers have to make Woody such an jerk on the show?).  Let me know what you all think.

Jordan's POV:

The flight home seemed to take about a hundred hours longer than the flight to Vegas. Woody sat next to me silently. I wished that I hadn't gone. That city was nothing short of a curse for me. Every boyfriend I've gone there with had gotten lost in something uniquely Vegas . . . drugs, exotic dancers, gambling. Every minute I was there; well, I couldn't stand Woody over ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent of the time I was mad at Sam.

I wasn't exactly pleased with myself either. I hadn't planned to go undercover with Danny; I didn't know that betting your wife on a hand of poker was something that was regularly done in Vegas. I guess it didn't surprise me. _What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. _I thought that was a load of crap because my indiscretions and Woody's indiscretions were following us home.

So what do two grown-ups do when they have a luxury suite to themselves for thirty minutes . . . the hidden camera was enough to put some extra pressure on us. Kissing Danny was different than kissing Woody. I was preoccupied with the case the entire time. I told myself that it was for the camera; I told myself to play along so some weird balding guy doesn't come into the room shooting. It was hard to kill thirty minutes only kissing. The sex was awkward; two people that didn't want anything to do with each other . . . two people lying next to each other wondering if this would indeed stay behind the black lacquered doors. I didn't want to be there; Danny didn't want to be there. Before I left, Danny told me that the tape was taken care of. I thanked God that I wouldn't have to see myself show up in some cheesy porn film. I didn't want Woody to have to hear about that either. My indiscretion was safe, but Sam managed to open her fat mouth about Woody's little indiscretion. I don't think he knew about Danny and I, but I was pretty sure that he knew I knew what he did while I was working. I reasoned that Woody could have said no but I had a lot more to lose by saying no. Either way, we were both wrong.

Every time Woody and I got close to being happy, something came up to tear us apart. Two days ago, Woody was sleeping my bed. Two days ago, I was nothing short of blissfully happy for the first time in my life. I wondered when this whole relationship thing was supposed to get easy; Dad told me that loving should be easy . . . that was a load of crap if I had ever heard one. I wasn't sure what would happen when we got home; I was pretty sure that it would be the same awkwardness that Devan created. It had taken so much to get to a point where I could begin to trust Woody; that was effectively obliterated.

The Monicito was kind enough to fly us on their private jet. Ed said that it was the least he could do to repay me for all the hard work that I did. I thanked him and told him it wasn't necessary, but Ed told me to "take the damn jet, Jordan." It was something my father would say. I got on the jet with Woody.

"Cavanaugh," I said as I answered the in-flight phone.

"Jordan, it's Danny. I just wanted to make sure that your flight was going okay," he said nervously. He must have felt as crappy as I did.

"Yeah, it's good. It's a good flight," I replied. I wasn't sure exactly how I was supposed to reply.

"Jordan, remember it stays in Vegas. I just wanted to tell you that once more before you plane lands," Danny replied. I wondered how he knew that my conscience was eating away at me.

"I know. Tell Ed thanks again for me," I replied.

"I'll see you 'round," Danny replied as he hung up the telephone. I sat with the phone to my ear for a few seconds before I hung it up. I kept telling myself 'it stays in Vegas.' Woody was looking at me funny. I must have looked like I saw a ghost.

"Who was that?" Woody asked. I wanted to ask him if he wished that it was Sam, but I held my tongue and surprisingly held my anger rather gracefully for a change.

"Danny wanted to make sure that our flight was going okay," I replied.

"Always the prince," Woody commented. I didn't think he had the right to make fun of the only man that had treated me with respect all weekend; Danny didn't make a point of checking out all the boobs at the pool. I had even offered up myself as a distraction from the noise and lights of the casino, but Woody passed on me. I guess there were other more beautiful things to be looked at.

"Well aren't you going to defend him?" Woody hissed.

"I didn't know that I needed to," I replied. I didn't even want to start this fight. There was absolutely no where for me to run to, "Let's not even start this."

"Start what? Is there some sort of problem, Jordan?" Woody replied. He knew about the tape; I could feel my stomach sink to my knees. I knew there was no way that I could explain myself out of this one. I had been the picture of moral authority these last few months, but I managed to screw it up. I always managed to screw the good things up.

"Please stop it," I replied weakly.

"I can't believe you let him bet you. How stupid are you? What if some other man had won you? Did you even think of that when you went up to that suite?" Woody screamed at me. His tone of voice was definitely above a yell. It qualified as a scream. I was momentarily thankful that he didn't know about the tape, but that didn't change what I had done.

"I didn't know when I got there," I replied.

"I saw the way that you were looking at him," Woody yelled. That was the wrong move.

"The same way you ogled Sam . . . the same way I ate supper alone every night because you were too busy with Sam and the casino," I yelled back. That ended the argument. I wasn't sure what else that might have ended.

Two Hours Later:

"Welcome home," Garrett said as I walked into his office and collapsed on the couch.

"I'm glad to be here. I hate Vegas more and more each time I go there," I replied.

"Should I ask?" Garrett asked cautiously. I knew he had already figured out what I was upset about.

"Could you call up the residency program in Dallas? I think I want to take them up on that continuing education course they offer," I replied.

"The four week one or the six month one?" Garrett asked. He looked shocked, but he was the one that worked so hard to make sure that I didn't get hurt by Woody. He was right . . . Woody had proven weak when it came to other women . . . why should it be any different this time; Garret was always right. God, was I ever the hypocrite. I was punishing Woody for the same mistake I had made, but I reasoned that it was easier to be mad at him than myself.

"The six month commitment. I want to leave as soon as they will have me," I replied.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"It would be a good thing for me right now," I replied. I hoped that I was making the right decision.


	10. Jordan's POV: Barbeque and Cowboys

It was a covert operation if I had ever been involved in one. Nigel, Garrett, and I spent the last three days packing up my apartment and moving all my personal effects into Garrett's basement. There wasn't much to move; I was never a packrat. The things that were to big to move were sold. There were only a few things that needed to be sold; I reasoned that I could always buy a new bed when I returned from Dallas. Nigel found a university student that would sub-lease my apartment for six months. I couldn't believe how seamlessly things began to come together; it finally hit me that I was going to Dallas.

Nigel and Garrett would look after the Pogue while I was gone. I had hired a lawyer to draw up the documents; I spent endless hours in the bar teaching them first how to bartend and second how to run the financial stuff. Garrett excelled at working with numbers; Nigel was much better at concocting interesting combinations of alcohol. I felt safe leaving the Pogue in their hands; I knew that I could fly hundreds of miles away and it would be kept warm for me. I was surprised that no one realized that I was leaving; if they did, Lily and Bug had not said a word about it. That was okay. I hadn't been in a talking mood lately.

I saw Woody once since we returned from Vegas. It was an awkward meeting; I was in Eddie's office asking him to keep an eye on Dad's house. I told him that I was going away for a little while; Eddie smiled and told me to come back feeling whole again. That was my goal; to feel something other than contempt and anger. Woody burst through the door asking Eddie about some case. He eyed me suspiciously; I had heard rumors that I was having sex with everyone from Eddie to Nigel to Garrett. I had heard rumors that I left Woody for another man. Good news always seems to travel fast. The opposite of the rumors was the truth; I spent my nights alone packing up the few belongings that I cherished. I went to the cemetery to say good-bye to Mom. I figured that I had covered all bases before I left. Woody ignored me and left. Time was supposed to heal all wounds; I hoped that six months would provide sufficient time for the tensions to fade. I hoped that I would come home brave enough to tell Woody that I would like to be his friend again. I secretly hoped that somewhere in Dallas 'Mr. Right' was just waiting for me to come into his life, but I was sure that I would come home alone.

The last two things on my agenda were to have a nice supper with Garrett and Nigel and make it through one more shift at the morgue. Garrett made me promise to be safe in Dallas; Nigel told me to go find a cowboy. Garrett conceded that there was nothing wrong with cowboys or Southern gentlemen. I thought it was very subtle of them to try to pick out the type of man that I should be with, but it would be nice to forget how it felt to watch Woody kiss Sam. It would be even better to forget what his cologne smelled like. I was a woman on a mission; I was going to come home happy. I was going to find something in Texas to make me happy; it could be barbeque, leather boots, or a man. I was going to come home feeling on top of the world. It was a lofty goal, but it was something I needed to achieve for myself.

There was knocking at my door. I was barely half-way finished getting dressed for dinner.

"Dallas?" Woody asked as I opened the door. I was in my robe; my hair was adorned with rollers and my make-up was half finished.

"Dallas," I replied. I tried to smile; Woody looked upset, but I wondered why he would even begin to think that I owed him an explanation. I wasn't mad about Vegas anymore; I reasoned that it was better to know that he would always look for things more beautiful than myself. It was nice to know that early in the relationship or whatever one would call the mess that Woody and I tangled in.

"Can I come in?" he asked cautiously. I opened the door and let him in. I walked back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. I was surprised that he followed me.

"Jordan, why now?" he asked. I wanted to ask him 'why not now.' This was the best time for me to go; it wasn't about running this time, but he would never understand that. It was about me finding something to make me happy; I had exhausted my possibilities in Boston. It was time for me to get back on track with my career. It was time for me to begin finding myself.

"I've been meaning to take some continuing education classes. Dallas has an excellent program in forensic technology. Nigel is flying out in a few weeks to go to a seminar on virtual reality crime scene replication. It would be an excellent tool for us to present to juries," I rambled. That wasn't the answer he wanted; my answer didn't even answer his question.

"Oh. Sam meant nothing," Woody responded. I hated this game; I hated the 'wounded' Woody coming to me for comfort, reassurance, or sex. I didn't want to feel used again; after the night three weeks ago, I made myself promise that I would never feel like that again. I didn't want to be a temporary replacement for Devan, Sam, or who knows what female that would walk into his life next.

"You don't owe me an explanation," I replied as I finished putting on my mascara.

"I do owe you an explanation. I'm stupid, Jordan. I'm stupid for always putting you on the back burner," Woody replied. I could see his reflection in the mirror; I tried to avoid it. I wondered if he thought that his words would suddenly make me change my mind about Dallas.

"It wasn't meant to be," I replied. I really wanted to believe that it wasn't meant to be. It was easier to avoid the stimulus that caused me so much hurt, rather than dive in head first again. I had learned my lesson quickly this time; I learned that Woody would do nothing but hurt me.

"Don't say that," Woody replied. He leaned against the door frame. I was satisfied with the state of my makeup. It played up my brown eyes; I looked like the glamorous natural beauty that I was always envious of in the magazines. I began to work on my hair; I had planned to wear it down. I decided last minute to make sure that it was curly. I told myself that this was no longer for Woody; it was something I was going to do to make myself glamorous. I told myself even if Woody was at dinner with us, he would still look at all the other women regardless of if I wore my hair the way he liked it. Tonight was for me; it was about me being the beautiful thing in the room.

"What should I say?" I challenged him. I supposed it would make leaving for Dallas easier if I was mad at him.

"Don't go. Give me another chance," Woody replied. He looked hurt; I knew that he hated it when I tried to be the grown-up in the relationship. It was an odd role reversal; he was no longer the man taking care of the way-ward medical examiner. I had become the responsible adult that was looking for commitment and fidelity in a boy that could not give that right now. It threw him off balance.

"I can't. I'm going to make myself happy before I let someone else make me happy. You should probably at least figure out what's going to make you happy," I lectured. He grimaced; it came out sounding a lot meaner that I had intended for it too.

"I know what's going to make me happy; it's the same thing that I always knew was going to make me happy. Jordan, I want to start things over between us," Woody tried to explain. I wanted to say 'yes,' but I couldn't let myself get hurt again. Loving someone wasn't supposed to be about hurting them.

"How long am I going to make you happy for . . . one, two days? How long until some other woman catches your eye? Then what . . . do I wait for you?" I yelled at him. I had reached my breaking point. I wasn't going to play second fiddle for the rest of my life; Dad always told me to find someone that will love me forever. I didn't want Woody to only love me intermittently for forever.

"I'm afraid to love you," Woody yelled back at me, "I'm afraid that you will leave me the same way Annie did."

"You should go. I'll see you in six months," I replied. He looked shattered. I think he expected me to willingly accept his apology. I think he came here with the intention of changing my mind. I hoped that he would take six months to figure out what he wanted in life; I hoped that his fears would die and maybe he would be ready to stop ogling all the other beautiful things.

"Be careful in Dallas, Jordan," I said as I opened the door for him. He kissed my cheek; I had to clench my teeth to prevent tears from running down my face.

"Woody, try to figure out what's going to make you happy," I said as he walked away. I was surprised to see Nigel exiting the staircase. I'm sure that he stood at the doorway listening to our argument. I'm sure he decided to take cover until he thought it was safe.

"Are you okay, love?" Nigel said as he ran a hand through my curls. My curls were beautiful and perfectly placed, but that was the only thing about me that felt perfect. I had slept with Danny; that made everything on the inside of me imperfect.

"Yeah, I'm going to be okay, Nigel. I'm going to be okay," I replied as he took me in his arms. I really hoped that six months would be long enough to begin to rebuild myself.


	11. Woody's POV: Lucky

Woody's POV:

She's in his arms; Nigel is gently comforting her. Her head is against his chest; I can hear her crying. She looks oddly vulnerable. I want to yell at her; she has no right to grieve as I am grieving. Jordan didn't like Devan; there was no question about that. I don't understand exactly why she is grieving. I don't know why I'm not grieving. I stand watching them; they don't notice me.

Nigel's POV:

"I'm sure what you said was only out of exhaustion, love," I whispered as I pulled her closer to me. Her tears are wetting my shirt. She's clinging to me; she's trembling in my arms. Jordan told me what Devan's mother said about all of us. I know why she's shaken; I know what it's like to want to take back words.

"Nigel, I'm a bad person," Jordan whispered.

"You aren't a bad person . . . none of us were good to Devan. Jordan, let's get you home," I replied. I felt empty; I wanted so badly to bring Devan home. It was the least I could do to make amends; if those even mattered anymore.

"Jordan, how are you?" Garrett said as he came into the crypt where Jordan and I were trying to hide from reality.

"Do you mind if I stay in Boston for a little while?" Jordan asked as she started to pull away from me. Jordan had called Dallas; there was nothing like a mass casualty and guilt to keep you in Boston.

"You can stay with me . . . Abby doesn't come over anymore anyways," Garrett replied. I think he expected Jordan to stay for a few days; I wouldn't have let Jordan fly even if she wanted to. I saw what that crash did; there was no way in hell that she was going to get on a plane tonight.

"So what's next?" Garrett asked.

"I don't think I can sleep," I replied.

"I need to go to the Pogue . . . some paperwork and stuff," Jordan said. She was still in my arms; she was far too exhausted to work.

"Love, I'll come help you out. I could use a beer," I replied. I kissed the back of her head. I could see Woody's form faintly in the reflection of the metal plated crypts. I didn't know if I should tell Jordan; those wounds were still too fresh. Last time Woody was hurting . . . well, he took advantage of Jordan. That wouldn't happen tonight; not as long as Garrett and I were taking care of her.

"Sure. I think maybe today will the first day that the Pogue won't open in the afternoon. We should do something for Devan . . . even if it's only sharing cliché stories," Jordan replied. I knew her conscience was killing her; I knew that the guilt was driving her mad. I hadn't realized that Devan thought of Jordan as a friend; I always thought Devan just enjoyed torturing Jordan. I wondered if we ever really knew Devan; maybe Devan was just clueless to the fact that Jordan had feelings for Woody. Jordan didn't talk about her feelings, so it was very possibly that Devan was just oblivious to the strange mating dance Jordan and Woody practiced endlessly. Part of me really wanted to believe that, but I just couldn't give in to the idea. I saw the pleasure Devan got out of driving Jordan mad. I saw the pleasure Devan got out of manipulating me to her work. The guilt would ease as we all began to forget those things. The guilt would be gone when we remembered Devan as a perky, passionate woman . . . a good doctor.

"I'll let Bug and Lily know. Nigel, you should drive Jordan," Garrett said as he placed a hand on my arm. He headed out the door farthest away from Woody; I knew his intentions were not to ask Woody. I felt bad for the young detective, but it was hard to forget that Jordan was leaving because of him.

"Let's go, love. It's been a long twenty-four hours," I whispered. She nodded. We left the crypt without looking back at Woody; I helped Jordan into her jacket. We took the freight elevator down to the parking lot.

Woody's POV:

They are like a family. I saw the way Nigel kissed Jordan; I saw the way that Dr. Macy reached out to Nigel and Jordan. I saw Bug comforting Lily. It's a family that I don't think I am welcome to be a part of.

I went back to the station. Eddie told me that I was lucky that I found that kid; it was strange . . . I didn't feel all that lucky. Eddie said something about going over to the Pogue; Jordan had called to let him know that she wouldn't be going to Dallas for a few days. Jordan was staying with Dr. Macy until she could get Max's house unpacked. Eddie said something about not wanting Jordan on a plane for a while; I didn't know when he became her keeper . . . they had been at each other's throats for years. He said that Detective Seely was going to go over there later. I said that I needed to go home.

I find myself standing across the street from the Pogue. There is a sign on the door "Closed – Death in the Family." They never thought of Devan as family before; hypocrites. I wonder what that makes me; I spent most of my time loathing Devan . . . I loved only her eyes.

I'm tired; my head hurts something awful. I have no idea where to go; I knew from the look Garrett gave me that I needed to stay the hell away from Jordan. I didn't blame him; I had hurt her badly. I had hurt her badly more times than I could possibly count on my hands. Devan . . . Sam . . . I wondered why I clung to things that I didn't really want. Jordan was right there; she was always right in front of me, but I was too stupid to realize that.

Selfishly, I was glad that Jordan wasn't leaving for Dallas. Selfishly, I missed Devan. I felt like I betrayed her; I wanted to tell Devan that I was sorry for coveting her eyes. I wished my last words to her were something more than "Jordan and I . . . Devan, I love Jordan." It shouldn't have really mattered because Devan didn't love me, but it should have been something special. I should have said something special to Jordan last night; I might never have the chance with Devan, but I did have a chance with Jordan. I just needed to think of something beautiful to say to her. I needed to say something that would minimize my careless affair in Vegas and all the other wrongs I have committed. I needed more than words; I needed sincere actions . . . fidelity and honesty.

"Detective Hoyt, why are you out here?" Sydney asked as he walked up behind me. He was getting ready to join 'the family' in their grief.

"I wasn't invited," I replied.

"Oh. The Vegas thing?" Sydney asked. I was annoyed with him already; the family was changing. It was evolving . . . I was no longer welcome to be part of its evolution.

"You heard about that?" I asked. If he knew, I was willing to bet that most of Boston knew.

"Sam called Jordan to tell her all about it. Speaker phone," Sydney replied. Well, it couldn't possibly be worse. Screwing up was about the only thing I ever really excelled at, "I know you and Devan were a thing . . . I'm really sorry."

It was nice of him. I watched him walk away. He broke into a slight jog in order to cross the street a little faster. He was a part of the family; I was not. I wanted to be part of something right now; I wanted to feel something right now. I didn't have anyone to run to; everything that I wanted I lost because own my own actions.

"Devan, I'm so sorry," I whispered as I watched Sydney walk into the Pogue.


	12. Jordan's POV: Falling out

Jordan's POV:

This afternoon, I picked up the phone to call Woody, but Garrett gently put his hand over mine . . . forcing the receiver back into the cradle. He protects me; he protects me from having to face all my demons personified. Woody reminds me of Danny . . . Devon . . . Malden . . . James . . . and Dad. Those people are not connected to my finest moments.

My words to Woody were careless; 'I'm sorry' aren't those words that I wanted to say. I wanted to sound much more sincere; I wanted to say something meaningful to Woody. I knew I was hurting badly, but whether I liked it or not, Woody cared for Devan more than I ever did. I wondered where he was, but the last time I let him into my bar . . . I made a huge mistake. Garrett reminds me that it was a mistake; it was something transient . . . my relationship with Woody would always be something transient.

We gathered at my bar. We talked about Devan; we all came bearing our guilty feelings. Lily was the only one that didn't have guilt; she loved people without considering what it might do to her. She let everyone in; I wished that I hadn't been so harsh with Devan. Death made me forget all the times that Devan truly made me feel small; all the times that she reminded me that I no longer had a father . . . all the times that she flaunted Woody right in front of me. I should have just let her have him; I made that decision a million times, but I don't think that I ever really placed it in motion. I had recently come to see that Woody might not have been worth the fight. I should have been friends with her rather than waging an unseen war.

We all talked for hours. We shared stories about Devan; all the stories placed her in a positive light. That's where she should be; maybe that's where she always was. I want to be a better person; I want to be more like Lily.

My suitcase sits in the corner. Nigel won't let me reschedule my flight for a few more days; he says that the vivid images of the wreckage needs to fade. Those images will never fade; they will always be engrained in his mind. I will never feel safe flying again; wheelchair batteries . . . ceramic bullets. They make me shudder. Garrett says that I should still go to Dallas; he says the miles will provide me with strength. Out of site, out of mind.

Garrett neatly made the bed in the spare room. He put my New England Patriots blanket on the edge of the bed. He is the only person that knows that blanket goes everywhere with me. It's a small piece of home; it's a small comfort in my times of need. It reminds me of all the Thanksgivings spent yelling at the television with Dad; it reminds me of watching the Superbowl. Those things make me happy. This Thanksgiving, I'll be eating a frozen dinner in Dallas. I'll be watching the football game alone. A few weeks ago, I thought that Woody might share this Thanksgiving with me; tonight, I know that will not happen. I can't let it happen. I feel so much guilt already; I'm not interested in feeling more. I forced myself to think of all the adventures I could have in Dallas . . . all the new people I would meet. I forced myself to think of seeing rodeos and meeting Southern gentlemen. It would be a growing experience if anything.

"Jordan, I just wanted to say good night," Garrett says as he gently taps on the door.

"Good night, Garrett. Thanks for making sure that I'm taken care of," I replied. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him; he's been one of the only constants in my life. I owe him so much; he's held my hand the entire time I've struggled to put the past behind me. He's helped me grow so much in the last few months. I'm glad that he had the balls to tell me that there was more to life than Woody. I had to stop clinging to Woody for support; I'm glad he took the cloak from my eyes. I had become the independent woman that I thought my father might be proud of . . . it just took me a long time to do it.

"Get some sleep," he replied. I hear him walk down the hallway; he doesn't have to say the words. I know that he cares; I could see it today when he ask me if I was okay. Even when all my family is gone, I always have Garrett.

"Cavanaugh," I say as I pick up my cell phone. I don't bother to look at the caller ID. Nigel promised to check in this evening; he was going to make sure the Pogue was ready to be re-opened tomorrow. I said I could do it, but Nigel also needed something to push the guilt into the corner of his mind. He too said unkind words to Devan.

"You're not in Dallas," Woody says. I'm not sure what that means; his tone is non-committal. There is a very good chance that he's trying to tell me that he wants me to be in Dallas. I'd understand it that were true. I said horrible things to him; I wasn't honest with him about Vegas. He wasn't totally honest with me either.

"I'm leaving in a few days," I replied. I'm not sure what to say to him. I want to say something perfect. I want to say something that is comforting. I can't mobilize the words that I want to say.

"You're at Dr. Macy's," he states. I didn't know what to make of that; he was confusing me. I figured Eddie started flapping his big mouth. Eddie was always good for that.

"I'm staying with Garret until Nigel let's me reschedule my flight," I replied. I tried to be honest. Even if I had rescheduled my flight, I wasn't sure if I would have been on it.

"You shouldn't go," Woody said.

"I need to go. Woody, I'm really sorry, but this is something you have to work through. I can't replace Devan . . . I can't be Devan. I'm probably the last person that you should reminisce about Devan with," I replied. I was still determined to find happiness for myself; I was determined not to always look for happiness in Woody. A man wouldn't solve my problems; being with Woody did nothing but complicate things further.

"I don't want you to go, Jordan. Don't leave me," he pleaded. He sounded like a truly broken man. I had to remind myself that I would only be needed until something more beautiful came along. I had to remind myself of how replaceable Woody made me feel. I had to remind myself that he wasn't ready for a commitment; he might never be ready for a commitment. This was a tangled high school love triangle; it took me a long time to realize that I wanted out. 'So Dawson's Creek' Garrett had called it; I asked him what he knew about Dawson's Creek. He smiled and reminded me that he had a teenage daughter . . . I reminded him that Abby didn't live with him.

"I'm sorry, Woody," I whispered.

"The last thing I said to Devan was . . . I told her that I loved you," Woody replied. That wasn't nearly as bad as what I said to Devan or how I treated Devan. Just because he says it doesn't mean that he means it; he said that to me when we were in bed. A few days later, he was sleeping with Sam. I wondered if Annie had really shaken his world so much that he was terrified to love; I wasn't sure if that was just an excuse for bad behavior. I knew what it was like to be terrified to love; I wasn't anymore. I was actually looking forward to finding something I could be passionate about . . . cowboys, barbeque, or leather boots. It made me smile. It made me feel free.

"Why now?" I asked.

"You're all I have left . . . you're all that I really wanted. Come see me, Jordan," Woody replied. He sounded so sincere; it was easy to want to give in to him. "Boston won't be the same without you."

I guess my silence answered his request. I knew Garrett wouldn't let me go even if I wanted to. I knew Garrett didn't want to see me hurt again.

"What about coffee tomorrow?" I asked; I tried to think of the next best thing.

"I need you, Jordan . . . I don't want to be alone tonight. You're all I have left," he sounded so desperate. I didn't even know what to say to comfort him; I didn't know what to say to protect myself from the aftermath. I told myself that I needed something more than 'comfort sex.' I needed someone that would be here for me tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that.

"Woody, I can't. I can't play this game. I'm sick of playing this game," I replied. I stood my ground. It made me feel good that I was able to do this for myself. It felt good to know that I would no longer define my happiness by the status of our relationship.

"Coffee tomorrow?" he asked sounding defeated. I knew he hated when I acted as grown-up as I had begun to feel.

"Coffee tomorrow. You can pick me up in the morning . . . after Garrett leaves for work," I replied. I cursed myself for making this back into a sneaky, high school relationship.

"Thank you."

"Good night, Woody . . . I'm really sorry about Devan. I know she meant a lot to you," I said. It felt good to say those words and mean them. I wondered if this is what it felt like to begin to fall out of love . . . I wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing.


	13. Woody's POV: Almost Romance

Everything I have touched, I have somehow managed to lose. My mother . . . my father . . . Annie . . . Devan . . . have all left me. I cannot remember a time when I was not alone. During those few times, I have managed to screw those up. I get scared; I'm afraid that I'll lose Jordan. I'm afraid she'll go to Dallas and never come back. I know someone else will see what I see in her. It's become so much more apparent now that she's gotten her life together . . . now that she's moved on. I'm glad that she is leaving the past in the past, but I fear that I'm a greater part of the past than I want to be.

I bought coffee for her. I know how she takes her coffee. I've been waiting for her for fifteen minutes now. She said that she'd meet me here; she called early in the morning. There were errands to run; loose ends to finish tying up. I'd understand if she stood me up; I stood her up. I had my reasons, but that doesn't change my actions. I would understand if she left me waiting as I had left her waiting.

She looks beautiful. She looks healthy. She looks so much happier than I think I could ever make her. She looks free. I wonder when Jordan finally found a way to get herself together; I wish that I could figure that out for myself. I haven't gotten any sleep since . . . since I was at the site of the airplane crash. I know I don't look well. I know I don't look like I deserve to be here with Jordan.

"I got you coffee," I said as she sat down at the table I was waiting at. Even with her next to me, I still felt like I was waiting. I knew that was all of my own doing.

"Thank you. How are you doing?" she asked. She tried to smile. It's amazing what forty-eight hours can do to a person. She's composed; I'm falling apart. I wonder if she still feels bad about Devan; I know I feel like a small part of me is dying.

"I'm doing okay. I met Mrs. Maguire . . . Devan never told her about me," I said. I hadn't meant to be that forthcoming, but it was bothering me. Eddie said that Mrs. Maguire knew everything about Jordan . . . I was sleeping with her daughter and she didn't even know who I was. I hoped that I meant something more to Devan; it was selfish for me to want that . . . I didn't want her. It wasn't right; I wasn't right.

"She's a great woman . . . she had a great daughter," Jordan replied. She looked so composed. I don't know how she could ever say that about Devan; Devan's mission was to make Jordan as miserable as possible. I was proud of Jordan; she was handling everything so gracefully.

"You don't have to say that to make me happy," I replied. She smiled. I don't think she was being insincere.

"Are you okay?" she asked. I didn't know what to say.

"I hope so," I replied.

"I need to get to the Pogue. I need to tie up some strings before I leave," Jordan said. She hung her head; I know she didn't want to say it. I know she was trying to figure out how to say good-bye. It was okay; if I were her, I'd run from me.

"I really wish you would think about staying," I said. I really wanted her to stay.

"I have thought about it, but I need something more than some confused almost romance," Jordan replied. I knew what she meant; I knew what I couldn't give her.

"You deserve more . . . I heard about you and Nigel," I said. Those were the most convincing rumors. I saw the way he held her; I saw that way she smiled when he whispered in her ear. I wanted to make her happy like that.

"I see you still haven't learned what they say about assuming," Jordan replied with a smile. I could be such an ass. I was beginning to believe that maybe she would be better off with someone else; I heard Nigel say something about cowboys the other day. They didn't know that I was standing right there. Garrett said that there is nothing wrong with a Southern gentleman; she obviously had struck out with Midwestern men. I was never going to be a cowboy, and I knew that her friends would never approve of me again. I had screwed up. She was right about this constantly being an almost romance.

"He makes you smile like I could never make you smile," I replied.

"You can't think of the inappropriate things that Nigel says to make me smile," Jordan replied. She smiled; her eyes darted to the right. She was thinking about something happier; I don't think I was part of her memory.

"That's how he does it?" I asked. I was better at imagining the wonderful things that he could be saying.

"Woody, they are all rumors. I'm happy being by myself right now . . . I'm happy figuring out what besides work is going to make me happy," Jordan said smiling. I had never seen her so composed . . . so happy. It made me sadder. I made me sad that I was becoming unwound. I was slowly losing my composure; I couldn't find happiness outside of little mementos of days long gone.

"You are so beautiful," I said. I hadn't realized that I said that. Jordan smiled, but she didn't look convinced. My words had no right to convince her; my words were often careless. Lately, my words had been more hurtful than anything else. I had to remind myself; that it could have easily been Jordan's plane in the mountains. I knew that's what Nigel and Garrett were thinking when we were recovering the dead. Bug had made a comment similar to that; I had to walk away from him. I couldn't even begin to conceive the thought.

"I need to get going. Nigel is convinced that he is going to be able to bartend like Tom Cruise," Jordan replied laughing, "I have to go protect my alcohol."

"I'm sorry about the things that I said about you and Danny. I was way out of line; I'm sorry about . . . about everything," I said as Jordan stood up.

"Long since forgotten. Find something that's going to make you happy," Jordan said as she gathered her bag.

"Can I see you again before you leave?" I asked hopeful that she might even consider.

"Sure. I leave in a week. I'm going to work a few shifts, but I'll probably spend most of my time at the Pogue," Jordan replied.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I asked. She laughed at me . . . I guess that was my inappropriate question.

"I'm staying at Dad's house . . . I'll see you later, Woody," Jordan said as she walked away. I had never felt so empty. I cursed myself for my mistakes. I wanted to run after her, but I knew she was right . . . I needed to find something to make myself happy. I really wanted to believe that would be all it took, but everything was insignificant when it wasn't shared with Jordan.

Thinking that made me stand up quickly and hurry out of the coffee shop. People stared at me as I ran down the street. I searched for her at every corner. I looked through the crowds for her. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest; I needed to find her. I needed to stop her from leaving me. I ran until my chest was sore and I could barely breathe. I found myself in front of the Pogue; at the time, I was more concerned about my inability to breathe. I felt like I was going to die, but I felt that way every time Jordan left me. I always felt like she left with a little bit of me.

"Woody, are you okay?" Jordan said as she rushed over to me; I was still gasping for air. She was carrying a brown paper bag. She must have driven; that's why I couldn't find her. I was sure that she would just think I was making an ass out of myself again.

"Don't leave . . . please don't leave me," I said in between huffs and puffs. She looked at me and smiled.

"First, try to take a few deep breaths. Come on in . . . I'll get you a cup of coffee," Jordan said as she unlocked the door.

"I don't want coffee. I want to make whatever this is right," I replied. My chest still throbbed. She looked worried; I wondered if I was confusing worry with pity.

"The coffee is going to help ease the inflammation in your bronchioles. Woody, this is right. Everything is really okay . . . it's six months, not six years," Jordan replied as she held the door open for me much like she had all those weeks ago.

"No, I can't let you leave. What if we don't have six months?" I asked as Jordan waved me over to one of the tables. She told me to sit up straight, stop talking, and take some deep breaths. It was the first time that I thought of her mortality; it was the first time that I had begun to imagine what Boston would be like without Jordan. It too would become an insignificant thing.

"Woody, I can't live a life of hot and cold. You can't love me one minute and push me away the next. It's not fair. Once you are ready for a commitment, we can give this a try again. I didn't want to have to say it this way. It would have been easier to sneak off to Dallas in the middle of the night," Jordan replied.

"Don't you understand that I'm afraid of you leaving me . . . everyone else leaves for something better. Do you have any idea what it's like to be afraid that if I let myself love you . . . you'll leave me," I replied. My voice was raspy; my lungs were still throbbing.

"Love doesn't come without commitment and fidelity," Jordan lectured.

"You'll go to Dallas and find someone better," I replied. I hoped that I didn't sound as whiny as my ears told me I did.

"It's not about better or worse . . . it's about a real relationship where both people live inside the rules. It's about not always being second best . . . Woody, don't make this harder than it needs to be," Jordan replied as she poured a cup of coffee.

"You were never second best . . . I always settled for what seemed safe . . . what seem at least plausible. From the day that I met you, I knew you could do better than me. I probably set myself up for defeat," I replied. I truly believed that; she could do so much better. She needed so many things that I wasn't sure that I could give her; fidelity, honesty, and a host of other things that I hadn't even thought of yet.

"Woody, let's not have this conversation. Let's just work on the future; let's work on salvaging whatever friendship there is left," Jordan replied. I could tell that she was getting fed up with conversation. She pushed a cup of coffee in front of me. Jordan didn't look like she believed what I was saying; I knew she probably had compared herself to Sam and Devan trying to figure out exactly where she was flawed. I wanted so badly to tell her that cosmetic perfection doesn't reflect internal goodness; Devan was as close to soulless as possible and Sam was nothing more than easy. They could never hold a candle to her intelligence, her drive, or her compassion. Besides that, Jordan had a beauty that I couldn't describe. It was something timeless and simple; she wasn't as fake looking as the other women.

"You're still going?" I asked. I knew I hadn't succeeded in my quest; I probably just appeared desperate.

"Unless there is some catastrophe that keeps me at home," Jordan replied. She looked like she regretted those words immediately after saying them. It would be selfish for me to wish for that.

"You'll at least keep in touch?" I asked.

"I don't know if that's the best idea right now," Jordan said. A pensive look was plastered on her face.

"Cowboys?" I asked.

"Not the football team, but Nigel has his heart set on me bringing one home . . . I don't really know if it's for me or him," Jordan said with a small laugh.

"Nigel?" I said laughing. I didn't want to fall back into our normal banter; it would make it hurt so much more when she left.

"You haven't seen his apartment . . . his spandex . . . I think his sexuality might be a little more open ended than most people's," Jordan replied. I had heard stories about Nigel's spandex and obsession with the mythical. I had seen how he fit in at the 'vampire' club.

"I don't think I ever want to get acquainted with his spandex," I said laughing. She would be gone in a week and I would only be left with these last few moments of comfortable banter. I would be left with the desire to follow her anywhere that she went. My momentary happiness would give way to the depression; it would be the same depression that I battled after coming to Boston . . . after Annie. It was a stupid way for me to figure out that I did love Jordan; I shouldn't be figuring this out when I was on the verge of losing her.

"Are you feeling better?" Jordan asked.

"Momentarily," I replied, "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you to, but this is something that I need to do for myself. I've never really been alone before . . . the stories about an endless string of guys isn't too far from the truth. I need to learn how to be alone," Jordan confessed. I knew that was something that I needed to do too, but it was so much easier to lean upon the nearest comforting shoulder.

"Just make sure that you are careful. Dallas is more dangerous than Boston," I lectured . . . I figured Jordan had heard this speech from Nigel and Garrett several times already, but it felt like the appropriate thing to say.

"I'll be taking classes and teaching classes. I don't think I'll have time to do much more than be a medical examiner," Jordan said with a slight roll of her eyes. She had indeed heard this lecture several times before.

"Make sure that you come back," I said softly. I dropped my eyes to the table; she was really going to leave me in a week.

"I'll come back," Jordan replied. I wasn't sure if she even believed that; I know I didn't.

I closed my eyes. I tried to imprint the image of her face in my brain. I wanted something to remember her by; I wanted to remember her this free and at ease. My mind began the countdown until she would get on a plane . . . seven days.


	14. Jordan's POV: Second Chances

Author's Note: This is where I think I might start shifting away from the show's current story lines -- I think it's about time to wrap this story up. Hope you all enjoy! -Jac

I couldn't shake the way he pulled his gun on that kid without thinking; there was a glared of hatred that I rarely saw come out of Woody. I wasn't afraid of the kid; I didn't really know what damage a fencing sword, or whatever they call it, could do to me. Woody seemed to anticipate the worst; he protected me without thinking.

I was getting ready for my date with 'the dork.' I had a feeling that I might be giving the wrong person a second chance, but he sounded so nice on the telephone. He didn't sound like the confused kid he once was; I was sure that I should have called Woody. I should have been giving him a second chance tonight.

We worked together on a few cases this week. My flight was only forty-eight hours away; my pulse raced a little every time I thought about it. I was nervous, excited, and scared all at the same time. I hadn't felt this way in a long time; it felt damn good. I think Woody knew that I was excited; he seemed upset when he saw all the Dallas visitor brochures cluttering my desk. I knew he was disappointed, but I was determined to make my way to Dallas. Maybe second chances would come for Woody and I, but that would be far in the future. I wondered if Woody was right about only having six months; I wondered if that was in reference to our mortality or to the shelf-life of a relationship. I wondered if relationships do have shelf-lives; I wondered if Woody and I hit our expiration date sometime last year . . . when our relationship had first begun to sour.

It was hard to shake him from my thoughts; he seemed like a constant presence these last five days. I couldn't get the image of him doubled over in front of the Pogue gasping for breath. He was a frantic mess; he was so terrified of losing me. I rationalized that he would need to have me before he could lose me; maybe he did have me that night he came to the Pogue to seek solace in me. Complicated; he said he could be complicated. I thought complicated was a little bit of an understatement. Woody could be downright impossible. Six months; I hoped he could get it together in six months. I held onto the hope that we could at least be really good friends.

I dressed carefully. Garrett told me not to screw things up before dessert; I normally managed to screw things up before the appetizers. Always held men to a higher standard; I had Woody to thank for that. He had these endearing, protective, up-standing-citizen qualities that were lacking in most of the men that I met. Woody made everyone else look bad. Especially when he went back to pretending that he was perfect; all week he pretended to be that happy-go-lucky Farm Boy. He didn't outwardly look like he was muddling through the consequences of Devan's death or his commitment issues. I wished he knew that he didn't have to pretend.

"Cavanaugh," I said as I picked up my cellphone. The caller ID showed a number that I had never seen before; I reasoned that it might be Spork calling to make sure that I was still going to meet him for dinner and drinks.

"Is this Jordan Cavanaugh?" A woman asked.

"This is," I replied. Telemarketers . . . I was annoyed that they were calling this late.

"Your father Max Cavanaugh has just been brought into Boston General," the woman said. I couldn't believe the words; I wasn't hearing this. My father couldn't have possibly been in Boston all this time; I had two private detectives looking for him.

"Is he okay?" I asked. That was a dumb question; she wouldn't be calling if he was okay.

"He's suffered a heart attack. You should hurry," the woman said. With that, I hung up my cellphone and frantically searched for my keys, purse, and shoes. Everything else could wait. I could call Spork from the hospital. He would understand. He would have to wait for that second chance.

The drive was excruciating. What normally took me twenty minutes seemed to take well over an hour. It didn't help that I would look at the clock on the radio ten times in a minute. I picked up my cellphone and dialed the only person that I knew I could count on.

"Macy," Garrett said. He sounded groggy; he must not have went out for that drink after all.

"Garrett, I need you," I said. It was more of a squeak than words. I didn't really know what to say.

"Jordan, are you all right?" He asked suddenly sounding a million times more awake than just moments ago.

"No . . . no, I'm not all right," I replied.

"What's wrong?" Garrett asked. I could hear shuffling in the background. He must have been getting dressed. Garrett was the only person I knew that would get up and come to me in the middle of the night.

"Dad's had a heart attack . . . he's at Boston General," I rambled. I pulled into the ER parking lot and put my car in the nearest available spot. I whipped the keys out of the ignition.

"Is he okay?" Garret asked; I could hear the distinct rattling of keys.

"They wouldn't tell me anything on the phone. I just got to the hospital," I replied. I knew that was the first thing they teach to physicians; you never give really bad news over the telephone. I expected the worse; I expected to walk into the hospital to find out that my father was dead.

"I'll be right there. Be brave, Jordan. I'll see you soon," Garrett replied. I could hear a car starting before he hung up his telephone. I ran out of my car and into the emergency room. I ran to the desk.

"Max Cavanaugh . . . where's my dad?" I asked breathlessly to the woman behind the counter.

"Go have a seat in the family room . . . someone will be out to talk to you shortly," the woman said as she continued to type on her keyboard. I wanted to jump over that desk and strangle her, but I numbly walked to the family room. I sat down and waited. I don't know how I long I waited, but I tried to wait patiently.

"Ms. Cavanaugh, I'm Alex Burnam. I treated your father this evening," a young man said as he sat next to me. I was startled; I hadn't heard him open the door to the silent room. They must have sent the intern to see me; he looked as scared as I did . . . I wondered if this was the first time that he had to tell a family bad news.

"My dad . . . is he okay?" I asked. My voice was trembling.

"Max was brought in earlier this evening. He was having a massive myocardial infarction. We stabilized him in the ER and took him up to the cardiac catheterization lab. During the procedure, Max's heart stopped," the doctor said. I couldn't believe that I was hearing; he had to be lying to me. I knew he had to be lying to me.

"Ms. Cavanaugh, your father is in the ICU on a ventilator. The neurologist is going to come by to assess his brain function; I'm afraid that it probably won't be good news," the doctor said. I wanted to hit him for not working harder to save my father.

"I'll send someone to walk you up there," the doctor said as he placed a hand on my knee. That's all it took for me to start sobbing uncontrollably. I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't even breathe.

"Jordan, God, Jordan," Garrett said as he rushed to my side and immediately pulled me into his arms. I sobbed as I clung to him. He whispered things in my ear; I couldn't hear them but the tone of his voice was soothing.

"Garrett, he might be brain dead," I said between raspy sobs. I could feel him pull me closer to my chest. He talked more; I liked the sound of his voice, but that was not enough to make things better. _What if we don't have six months? _That's all I could hear running through my head; maybe I should have been questioning the mortality of myself and my father. Maybe Woody had the right idea after all.

I don't remember how we got up to the ICU; I don't remember riding and elevator or climbing stairs. All I remember is how sick my father looked and how the respirator made this gentle hum as it forced my father to breathe. I sat next to him; Garrett sat next to me. He held my hand.

"Love, I tried to get here as fast as I could," Nigel said as he kneeled before me. I hadn't heard him come into the small cubicle where my father was dying, if not already dead. Nigel kissed my cheek. I couldn't cry anymore. All I could do was feel my heart being ripped out of my chest; it was a pain that I hadn't felt since I saw Mom on the hardwood floor.

"Lily, Bug, and Sydney are on their way. Okay, love," Nigel said. I don't think he expected me to answer. I don't think I could have answered if I wanted to. I was waiting for the neurologist to do his second EEG on Dad; the second EEG would determine whether or not the ventilator would be turned off. Dad had only abnormal reflexes; the doctor in me knew that all his upper motor neuron control was lost . . . he was brain dead. The doctor in me knew this, but I couldn't let myself believe that he was gone . . . my Dad was dead.

"He's dead, Nigel," I said. I hadn't realized that I said that. Nigel and Garrett looked shocked; I couldn't believe I had said such a horrible thing out loud.

"Love . . . is there anyone else that you want me to call?" Nigel asked. I think he was asking me if I wanted him to call Woody if he had not already; I didn't think he'd call Woody without my permission.

"Can you call my date? I was supposed to be there thirty minutes ago . . . I don't want him to be worried. Can you call Eddie? Eddie was Dad's partner . . . Eddie should be here," I said. My voice sounded shockingly calm; it was the numbness. I had just lost my father. The emotions would come after the shock.

"Anything, love," Nigel said as I handed him my cell phone . . . that's where all the numbers were. Nigel quickly disappeared to make the telephone calls. Garrett held my hand . . . I held my father's hand. I wondered how I could ever say good-bye to Dad. I wondered what words I should use and what I should tell him.

"Garrett . . . he needs his last rights. He would want that," I said.

"Are you going to be okay alone?" Garrett asked.

"Could you call Woody? I think I need him," I replied. Garrett nodded. Woody would understand. I didn't expect Garrett to fight me this time; he walked away silently. I tried to think of what to tell Dad before the ventilator was turned off.


	15. Woody's POV: Time of Death

She's pale; under the blinding fluorescent lights, her skin is the color of snow. She's holding Max's hand. Her face is devoid of emotion. She occasionally opens her mouth like she is going to say something to her father, but she quickly closes her mouth. Nigel is sitting next to her. Lily, Bug, Sydney, and Garrett are crammed into the area between his bed and the wall. They don't seem to mind the close quarters. Eddie is sitting on the corner of the bed. I had to beg the nurse to let me back; she insisted that Max had enough visitors. The doctor told me to go back; they were waiting for the priest. They already talked to the neurologist. I told the doctor that I was a close friend of the family; he told me that the ventilator would be turned off after Max's last rights.

I hadn't expected Garrett to be the one to call me; I was asleep. I couldn't think of what else to do when I got home. Jordan had a date; I didn't have anyone to run to. I didn't really have anyone.

I raced to the hospital, but I had a hard time getting out of the car. I did everything possible to avoid hospitals; my least fond memories all took place in hospitals. I watched my mother die only to have to watch my father die just over a decade later. I knew why Jordan wanted me there, but I didn't think that I would know what to tell her. It's hard to say good-bye; it's hard to figure out the right words. I always second guessed my words to my father; he was my father and I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I loved him. I loved him for being my father, but I didn't love him for being an alcoholic and forgetting to take care of his sons. My father was dying, but I hated him.

I felt like I had wished this upon her. I was the one who told her that we might not have six months; I was the one that had secretly been praying for something that would keep her in Boston. I didn't know what I was going to say to her.

"Are they ready?" someone asked. I turned around to see the priest with his bible in hand. It was Jordan's friend from high school . . . her friend from the murder investigation.

"Yes . . . yes, father," I replied. I followed him into the room. Paul went right over to Jordan; he took her in his arms. He asked if she was ready; Jordan could only nod before the tears began to run down her face. Paul said told her that it was time to start. Nigel held Jordan as Paul began the Catholic ritual. I could hear her muffled crying; I could almost hear the minutes ticking away in my head. It was almost over.

The prayers were short; I always thought that they were much too short to encompass meaning of a life. I didn't really hear any of the words; all I could hear were the faint sounds of Jordan desperately trying not to lose control of her emotions. Her head was buried in Nigel's chest; his hand gently rubbed circles on her back. He would occasionally whisper something in her ear; I was willing to bet that this time he was saying very beautiful things to her. I wished that I was him.

Paul finished quickly; he said that he would be available to help Jordan with the arrangements. Paul was like family; I remember Paul saying that they grew up together. I remember Jordan saying that Paul was her first kiss. Eddie said that he would do anything to help Jordan; Eddie said that he couldn't be there when . . . when Max died. He told her to call him; he said if she needed anything . . . it was the least he could do for his partner's daughter. Jordan thanked him. Eddie brushed passed me; his face was a pale white . . . had never seen him so close to losing his composure.

Jordan said that anyone that was uncomfortable could leave . . . she didn't want to force anyone to be there. She sounded so different. Her voice was raspy; there was a tentative pause after each sentence. She looked either at Max or at the floor. No one moved; everyone wanted to be there with Jordan. It was much like a member of their family was dying. That was the atmosphere created around the medical examiner's office; they were a family. Their family had become so much stronger in the last week. I still felt like I watched their family from the outside.

The doctor came in; he explained to Jordan what would happen. Max might breathe on his own for a little bit before passing on. The doctor gave him pain medication and assured Jordan that Max would feel no pain. Then he did it; his last moments, three minutes, seemed to take ages. Then it was over. _Time of death 2356._

She cried; her head rested on Max's chest. She kissed his cheek and asked the doctor to please take him to the morgue. She told the doctor that she couldn't see her father like that. Jordan said she would be in contact with a funeral home tomorrow . . . she would return Max to Emily. The doctor offered his condolences. She thanked him for finding her before it was too late.

We followed her out to the family area set aside for us. Lily hugged her; she said that she needed to get going. Lily ran her fingers through Jordan's hair . . . straightening it . . . tucking it behind her ears. Bug was going to drive Lily home; he kissed Jordan's cheek. He said to take time off; Bug would work for Jordan. Jordan said that she couldn't ask him to do that; Bug said that there was no reason to ask. They disappeared; I could see the tears in Lily's eyes. She always felt so much for the people around her.

Sydney quietly excused himself. He told Jordan to rest; he told her to call to call if she needed anything. Jordan thanked him; he kissed her cheek. Only Garrett, Nigel, and I were left in the room with Jordan. Jordan asked them to give her a minute with me; they went silently. She sat down on a small sofa; she didn't exactly sit . . . she collapsed onto the tiny vinyl sofa. She sat with her head in her hands. I walked over to her; I sat next to her. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next.

"You were right . . . about second chances . . . third chances. I should have just apologized and left my mother's murder alone. I would have been there with him . . . he wouldn't have sat alone in the ER for ten hours by himself . . . he shouldn't have had to go to surgery by himself . . . lay dying in the ICU before they figured out which of his drivers licenses were real," Jordan said softly. Her breathing was irregular; her chest shook slightly as it rose and fell. I wished that I wasn't right, but I didn't exactly remember saying anything about second chances.

"You were there when it counted," I whispered as I pulled her into my arms.

"He didn't know that I was there. I didn't get to tell him that I loved him . . . I didn't get to apologize," Jordan said as she looked up into my eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks. Her faith had been shaken; she had worked so hard to put herself together. She had worked so hard to mature into a woman that Max would be proud of . . . he would never know what he was missing. Jordan would never know that she was forgiven.

"He knows . . . he knows," I replied. Max had to have known; he had probably been watching her the entire time he was in Boston.

"What do I do next?" she asked. I had never seen Jordan come apart like this; being obsessed with her mother's murder was one thing, but this was different.

"Let's get you home. Everything else can wait until tomorrow," I replied.

"I don't know what Dad wants . . . we never talked about . . . he always thought that I would be gone before him. I did stupid things . . . I did stupid things. It's my fault," Jordan replied. The tears poured down her face faster.

"It's not your fault," I replied.

"Why does it feel like it is?"

She would always feel that way. She would always remember that guilt; she would always remember today. I could remember the day my father was shot; I could remember the fight we had in the morning. I could remember me yelling at him about not giving Cal money to pay for his middle school football fees. I quit the football team so I could give Cal the money; it would mean so much more to him than it would to me. He deserved that little happiness in a life that was otherwise miserable. Dad was on a ventilator for ten days; I balanced all my time between taking care of Cal and being at the hospital. I resented my father for making me have to be an adult over night; little did I realize that I had been an adult since the day that my mother died. I took care of Dad every time he was too drunk to make it through the front door; I took care of Cal . . . I raised Cal. That was one thing my father could never say he did.

"Let's get you home," I replied.

"I don't know if I want to go home . . . his things are everywhere," she replied. I knew she recently began to clean out some of her mom's things; that must have devastated her. I knew she wasn't ready to go back home to another set of reminders.

"Dr. Macy is still here . . . maybe you could stay with him. Nigel could always go pick up some stuff at Max's house for you," I said.

"Will you come see me?" she asked. I could never say no to her.

"Whenever you want me to," I replied. This time I was determined not to let her down; I was going to make the most of my second chance. I was going to take care of her like Max asked me to; I was going to be everything that I should have been the last few years. I know Jordan wouldn't be happy if she knew what made me happy was taking care of her; she prided herself on taking care of herself. I hoped maybe she could find something in me that made her happy . . . something like cowboys, the Indigo Girls, or that locket she loved so much.


	16. Woody's POV: Simplicity

"You need to eat," I said as I pushed the Chinese food towards her. She looked at it and pushed it back. I pushed it right back at her only to receive a scowl in return. Dr. Macy and Nigel called me out of frustration. Nigel was staying with Jordan at Max's house; well, it was her house now. Nigel said that she hadn't eaten in four days; Dr. Macy said she stopped sleeping two days ago.

"You are going to eat the damn food I brought you and you are going to eat it now," I yelled at her. I knew that was the only way that she was going to hear me; she ignored everything else said to her. She had begun living in her own catatonic world.

She looked at me confused. I saw her lip quiver. I saw the tears begin to well in her eyes. She wasn't going to be defiant any longer tonight. She was going to begin grieving her loss.

"I don't understand," she whispered. She looked down at the kitchen table.

"What don't you understand?" I asked as I stood up and put the carton of Chinese food in the refrigerator; I knew it wouldn't be eaten tonight.

"I need my dad . . . I've always needed him. Why? I don't understand why he needed to leave . . . Woody, I need him," Jordan whispered as she broken down in tears.

"I don't know why," I replied as I stood behind her. I rested my hands on her shoulders and gently began to rub them as she began to silently sob. I did wonder why; Jordan needed her father more than any other person I had ever met. Her father was her only family. She needed her father so much more after James committed suicide and after her grandmother died during surgery just a few weeks ago. I don't think she told anyone about her grandmother; Jordan said that she didn't have a relationship with the woman. Jordan said that she got sick of hearing stories about how Max brutalized her mother from a woman that looked at the world through the windows of a mansion that she never invited her granddaughter into.

"What do I do next?" Jordan asked. It was the same question she asked me a few nights ago right after Max had passed away. I still didn't have a good answer for her. All the easy stuff had been taken care of; Max had planned his own funeral years ago. Max had all his finances in order before he disappeared into the depths of Boston as Samuel Winters, Allen Walters, or one of his other fake identities. I wondered why he needed to hide; the mess with Malden had been taken care of. I hoped that he had watched over Jordan; I hoped that maybe once or twice he snuck into the Pogue during a busy Saturday night just to make sure she looked well. I knew all the hopes in the world wouldn't make this reality.

"I don't know, but whenever you decide that there is something to be done . . . I'll help you," I replied. I hoped she knew that I was being sincere. I hoped she knew that maybe she didn't have to leave Boston to find something tangible to make her happy; I had recently learned that I relished the intangible so much more than I thought possible . . . I longed for the briefest smile to play upon her lips. In those seconds, I felt like maybe everything in the world was right. I hoped she could find something so much more meaningful than cowboys, leather boots, and barbeque. I secretly and selfishly hoped she could find the intangible in me. I wouldn't hold my breath . . . it would take a long time for her to get to that level of soul-searching again. Today, tomorrow, and the day after that would be spent defining her relationship with Max and figuring out the perfect way to say good-bye.

"Thank you. Do you think he was happy?" Jordan asked me. She seemed to only ask the questions that I had no idea how to answer.

"I hope so . . . he had so many reasons to be happy. He had you . . . the Pogue," I replied. In all reality, I thought those were far too few things. The Cavanaughs seemed to lead lives of simplicity . . . I wondered if sometimes the lack of clutter in their lives was what did make them unhappy. I never saw photos of them lining shelves or mantles. I never saw carelessly left behind mementos of his daughter in the house . . . there were never sweatshirts, jackets, hair jewelry, or anything else on a counter or coffee table. I always tried to leave a piece of myself behind if I knew that I wanted to come back. I wished Max and Jordan had learned that behavior.

"I'm hungry . . . could you heat up the Chinese food I pushed away?" Jordan asked. She blushed a little.

"Sure. You want anything else?" I asked as I pulled the carton back out of the refrigerator. Jordan got up and pulled a bowl out of one of the cupboards.

"I really want brownies," Jordan replied. I had to laugh; she always wanted some form of chocolate when she was upset.

"You have to eat something with even the minutest nutritional value before you have dessert," I replied.

"When did you turn into an old hen?" Jordan asked as she sat back down at the table.

"_The minute I realized that you were going to leave me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. The second I realized that I loved you more than I ever thought I could love a woman. The millisecond I realized that life is too damn short to waste on fruitless relationships with woman that could never even hold a candle to you," I thought._ I didn't dare say this out loud; it was too soon for this admission to be remotely acceptable.

"When I found out that you haven't been eating," I replied as I scooped the contents of the carton into the bowl.

"Thank you," Jordan replied. I really wanted to thank her for even letting me be here. I watched her tear a napkin into tiny shreds. She seemed content focusing all her attention into the meaningless task. The kitchen fell silent for a few minutes. I watched her pick at her food. I was thankful that she was at least making an attempt to eat. She would occasionally look up as if she needed reassurance that it was still okay to nourish herself. I reached over the table and wiped off a smudge of sweet and sour sauce from the corner of her mouth. She smiled; it was a brief smile, but it made my heart pound inside my chest. I think I smiled in return.

"So how long did Nigel ask you to stay for?" Jordan asked as she continued to pick at her meal and I continued to stare at her.

"I don't know . . . he said that Garrett and him probably would end up doing an all-nighter on the guy that was pulled out of the river. It was some politician's son," I replied. I would stay until she forced me out the door.

"Shouldn't you be out there helping? I thought you were lead homicide detective or something," Jordan replied.

"Seely managed to get his brown-nose in on this one," I replied. It was the truth or at least a half truth. Seely didn't mind working with Nigel and Garrett; I was still a little too intimidated to take their cases.

"I'm sure he did . . . he's a creepy little one," Jordan replied, "Did you want to watch a movie . . . or something?"

I was curious what the 'or something' choice was.

"Whatever you want. You get to run the show tonight," I replied as I scooped the rest of the food into the carton and put it away.

"When do I not run the show?" Jordan replied. She smiled again, but it quickly faded on her face. I assumed that maybe she thought it was inappropriate for her to be even remotely happy; I wondered when she would decide that it was indeed okay to be happy again.

"I know . . . I can't think of a time when you ever let me run the show," I kidded. It was actually a very truthful statement; the only place I ever got to be even remotely in control was the few occasions that we found ourselves in bed together. Even when I was the detective and Jordan was the medical examiner, she always managed to dictate the next move. It was okay; for some reason that arrangement just seemed to work okay for us.

"Can you help me box up some of Dad's clothes? He wanted them to go to charity," Jordan replied as her gaze fell back to the table. That's what the something else choice was.

"Okay, let's do that and maybe afterward we can find that brownie you want," I replied. I wanted desperately to give her even the smallest thing to look forward to.

"I guess . . . in the future, will you always offer up chocolate if I do what I'm supposed to?" Jordan asked. I guess she could smell a bribe from miles away.

"If that's what you want," I replied. She seemed a little irritated with the replied. She threw a dishrag at me.

"Don't be so complacent. I'm getting sick of it, but I still do want the brownie," Jordan replied as she got up from the table. She was smiling; I followed her upstairs to Max's bedroom. It was sparse; I was surprised that there were no pictures of Jordan or Emily. I wondered where he hid them. We spent the better part of three hours in that room packing away dress shirts and a tuxedo that might have easily been from the fifties . . . ruffles and all. Jordan would occasionally stop to run her hands over the fabric of a shirt or jacket. She began crying only once. She saved a few items . . . an old police officer uniform, a corduroy dinner jacket, and an old brown suit . . . it was the suit Max wore on his wedding day. We folded and bagged all the clothes; I carried them downstairs and put them in the trunk and the backseat of my car.

"You don't have to do all this for me," Jordan replied as she collapsed on the couch in the living room.

"I don't have to, but I want to," I replied as I sat next to her. She leaned up against my shoulder.

"Thank you," I replied. She sat forward and reached for the remote control. She flipped through several channels before deciding upon watching some show on CourtTV. She rested her head in my lap. I instinctively began to run my fingers through her hair. I would occasionally stop to rub her neck or shoulder. She fell asleep quickly . . . snoring softly. I didn't dare move; I had no reason to. There was no other place I would rather be. I don't remember falling asleep. I don't remember anything besides feeling a happiness that I thought I might lose to Dallas, cowboys, leather boots, or barbeque.


	17. Jordan's POV: The Most Beautiful Things

Author's Note: This is a tenative ending -- I'm not fully convinced I like it, but I like the fact that it's open ended and it doesn't answer all the questions about what happens next. I guess for me it makes it a little more realistic (if these stories ever can be) and thoughtful. I also like the reflection of how the characters have grown as people by being thrown into roles that are foriegn to them. Let me know what you think. -Jac

My strongest coping skill has always been repression; there is so much of my childhood that I don't remember simply because I have repressed all the things that have threatened to hurt me. My father's funeral is much the same. The day was a blur in which I only remember a few things. I must have been numb; I must have sat still watching the people around me as if I had been caught in some horrible dream. Most of my days have felt like that; most of my days have a derealization that prompts me to question if the events they contained have really happened.

I think it has been four days since the funeral. It could have very well been four weeks; all the hours have seemed to become the same. All the days seem vaguely alike. Each day is built around a carefully constructed routine that Garrett thinks will help me begin to adjust to all the changes in my life. I wanted to argue that these weren't just changes; the events of the last few days managed to completely restructure my life. Nothing from here forward would be the same. My foundation was gone; I was no more than an unstable house swaying in the wind. I wasn't anchored to something or someone. It was the most insecure feeling I had ever felt. I told Woody that it was like drifting in the wind. He agreed. He said that it never gets better; you just get used to searching for something or someone to reconnect to . . . you look to find something that could be your foundation.

I spent my first night alone since Dad died. Nigel offered to cancel his date and Garrett volunteered to spend the night on the couch, but I was sick of the constant stream of people wandering through the front door. I had barely a minute of silence to fill with my own thoughts. People always wanted to talk; I wished that they had realized that they hadn't given me a chance to even think about how I was feeling. I planned to spend the night thinking; Woody asked me to call before I packed up and ran. Garrett told me not to do anything stupid. I appreciated their concern, but I was too tired to run or self-destruct. Tonight, I needed to do nothing but think.

Dad's room was packed up. All that remained was the furniture and a few personal items that I couldn't bear to part with. His possessions were few; he liquidated the house the minute his eyes fell upon the home of the Pogue. He kept only what was necessary to survive. I didn't blame him; most of our possessions reminded us only of the distant unhappy memories that seemed to plague our lives. The few things that remained were reminiscent of happier times; a knick-knack from a weekend spent in the Cape and seashells collected from a beach in Florida. Florida was our first and our last family vacation; Mom was too sick to be able to travel. Dad couldn't leave her at home alone, so we rarely ventured outside of Boston. I remember rarely even venturing outside the neighborhood.

I stripped the sheets from Dad's bed. I laundered them and replaced them on the bed making sure that all the corners were perfectly creased hospital corners. I dusted the mahogany wood on the bureau and the armoire. I opened a window despite the brisk January air; I needed to do something to breathe new life into the vacant house.

I had begun to make plans to leave Pearle Street in favor of living in my childhood home. I had begun to pack up my bedroom, which had barely changed since I was eighteen years old. Dad had left all the posters and décor as I had liked it. I regretted never cleaning up the room as he had asked me to do three days before I left for college. It pained me to put those memories away, but looking at the mementos made me realize just how much I had grown as a woman in the last few years. It was both a comfort and something terrifying. It dawned on me that I was a middle-age, single woman alone in the world. That was something that suddenly scared me more than I could even imagine.

"Cavanaugh," I said as I answered my cell phone. I was cleaning the living room. Dad never lifted up the knick-knacks when he dusted; he just dusted around them. It made me laugh. It was one of those quirky things that made me love his efforts as a single father. He did a great job; I never thanked him for that.

"Jordan, I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay," Woody said. I was doing okay; I was caught in memories triggered by old high school yearbooks and photographs that had been tucked away years ago. Those things made me happy; I spent an hour laughing at the pictures of junior prom. Paul had taken me; he accidentally stabbed me with the pin when he put on my corsage. Paul awkwardly kissed me good-night. I went home thinking that Paul was the man I would marry; ten days later, he told me that he planned to enter the clergy after high school. I spent an entire weekend crying into my pillow. Dad asked if I needed to go to the doctor for what he assumed had something to do with 'woman problems.'

"I'm okay. I've been cleaning the house. I found some old pictures and yearbooks . . . it's keeping me busy," I replied.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Woody replied. I don't think people had expected me to be able to keep things together as I had. I had been very stoic, but that was an illusion. I hadn't had the time to be anything other than stoic. I didn't feel as though I could break down in tears in front of people I didn't know; I had only cried in front of Garrett, Woody, Nigel, and Lily. They were the only people that had made me feel comfortable enough to cry . . . to be vulnerable.

"Thank you," I replied. The tension was still there; no matter how hard we tried to bury all the feelings and all our excuses for bad behavior.

"I'm in your driveway. I thought you might want some groceries," Woody said with a slight pause. He tried so hard to make things tolerable; he tried so hard to mend a relationship that had been broken into a million pieces. At the funeral, Detective Capra asked me when it all began to fall apart. I immediately knew what she was talking about. It probably began to fall apart the minute that James was in the river, since then it's just been crumbling slowly and painfully. The minute we momentarily stopped the inevitable path of relationship destruction, something else happened. It always did.

"I'll let you in," I replied as I hung up the phone. He stood at the door with two bags of groceries in his arms and a gallon of milk slung on one of his fingers. He smiled awkwardly; I could tell that he was trying to determine exactly how mad I was that my quiet evening had been disrupted. Being with Woody was different, he didn't push me to talk . . . he didn't push me to do anything. He was a quiet comfort that I had recently begun to enjoy; although Garrett reminded me to be careful, the memories of his own parents seemed to have softened Woody. It made me realize that maybe it was time that I began to let him back in.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" Woody asked. I hadn't realized how lost in my thoughts I was.

"I'm sorry," I said as I reached out to help him, but he ordered me to go sit down. I followed him into the kitchen.

"You don't need to," I replied.

"Jordan, I know how you cook . . . I'm sure that every delivery man in Boston has been over to this house in the last week. You need to eat something decent," Woody replied.

"Are you the mother hen again?" I teased. I had called him that nearly a week ago. I remembered that. I remembered the way he looked at me. I remembered the way his eyes nearly begged me to eat the Chinese food he had brought over.

"Not funny, Jordan," Woody replied as he placed the bags on the counter. I began to help him unload them; I never realized how well he knew me. He had purchased all my favorite foods and drinks. I had always prided myself on not letting people know me, but I didn't realize exactly how much I had let him creep into my heart. I spent so much time denying that I had let him become a large part of my life; if it weren't true, I wouldn't have gotten mad about Devan and Sam. I wouldn't have spent evenings alone in my apartment secretly wishing that he was having a rotten time with his date.

"How are you doing?" Woody asked. He would ask that whenever I had gotten too quiet. I hated and loved that question all at the same time; I loved how much he cared about my wellbeing, but it was still too painful to think about exactly how I had been ground down to such a low level of functioning.

"You know," I replied.

"Have you eaten yet this evening?" Woody asked. I hadn't; I hadn't eaten all day. I hadn't felt the need to eat; I was more concerned about packing away all the memories that I wasn't quite ready to face yet.

"No," I replied as I sat down at the kitchen table. I hadn't realized just how tired I was.

"I'll make you supper," Woody replied.

He did make me supper. He made me macaroni and cheese that didn't originate in a blue box or a yellow box for that matter. I watched him; we barely said a word to each other. He told me that he found the recipe in one of his mother's recipe boxes just a few years ago when he decided to sell their family home so Cal could go to college and get settled in California. It was a rather short explanation, but his actions spoke volumes.

He sacrificed so much for other people. He was uncomfortable being on the receiving end of attention. When things became too personal and the spotlight was on him, Woody was afraid. He was afraid to let people see his weakness; it was hard for him to be vulnerable. He didn't have the luxury of ever being vulnerable; he had raised a child when he was nothing more than a child. It had taken so much for him to be vulnerable enough to let me become a part of his life; a part that he desired to make permanent. I wondered why I never realized that before. I wondered why my most coherent thinking was always done in times of crisis.

"You okay?" Woody asked again as he pushed a bowl of macaroni in front of me.

"Just thinking," I replied.

"About?" Woody asked.

"Cape Cod . . . junior prom . . . things that didn't seem to mean anything until . . .," I replied, "The number of good times were really disproportionate compared to the bad times."

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He just waited patiently for me to finish.

"I miss him . . . I missed out on so many years with him. I was so obsessed with my mother that Dad never got the chance to move on with his life. He was married to a ghost . . . a ghost with secrets that tormented us for years," I replied.

"It's over now," Woody replied. I really wished that it was just that simple. Things were never that simple; there were so many unanswered questions. There were so many times I didn't apologize. I would live with that guilt forever.

"It doesn't feel over," I replied.

"But this time it is . . . there aren't anymore answers, Jordan. Some things just end up going to the grave with people. The questions that you want answered . . . you probably don't want the answers . . . you might be disappointed with the answers," Woody replied. There were certain questions that I didn't want answered . . . my paternity . . . what did Malden do to me between his office and the alley . . . who killed my mother. Some of the answers scared me. I told myself that the answers didn't matter anymore; it was time to move on with life. It was time to start thinking about the future rather than fixating on the past. I was determined to do that.

"I know," I replied.

"So do I get to see these yearbooks that you unearthed today?" Woody asked. He smiled.

"No, I was thinking about burning them . . . I don't think the 80's were all that kind to me," I replied.

"I'm sure you were always beautiful," Woody replied. I could feel myself blush.

We did end up looking at old pictures. I told him stories that I hadn't ever told anyone before. I told him about Paul. I told him about my psychotic college roommate. I playfully slapped him when he told me that I made for a really cute Catholic school girl. It was like time disappeared; maybe it was more like we turned back time to somewhere between the kiss and California and the Malden debacle. It was somewhere markedly safer than the last few months.

Woody asked me if I thought that I could trust him. I told him that I wished I had seen this vulnerability months ago; I wished that he hadn't always pretended to be something or someone other than who he really was. He told me that he didn't want me to see him as broken. I understood; I often let him be the one that was strong for me. I let him protect me multiple times. Woody asked me to stay vulnerable; he asked me to stop pushing people away.

"I know trust is fragile, but let's try this thing again. I don't want to lose you again. I don't want to play the games . . . let's not waste anymore time. I know this probably isn't the right time . . . I know you aren't ready, but can you at least think about this?" Woody asked. He took me off guard because I wasn't ready. I could tell that he had put thought into his admission; he looked worried . . . he looked scared. Trust was fragile, but I didn't think he would back out as he did last time I was ready.

"I'm not sure when I'll be ready, but will you wait for me?" I asked. He smiled. I swore that I could see the tears filling his eyes. He wrapped his arms around me . . . I knew it would take time, but I hoped that maybe someday Woody and I would be able to rebuild the foundations that we were lacking.

"So does this mean that your quest for cowboys, leather boots, and barbeque has come to an end?" Woody asked as I began to drift off to sleep on the couch.

"Only if your quest for bimbos and blackjack is over," I replied unknowingly in my sedate haze.

"Fair enough," Woody said as I drifted off to sleep.

Out of the beauty that I had found on Earth, forgiveness . . . second, third, and forth chances . . . might just be the most beautiful thing.

FIN


End file.
